Journal articles on the topic 'Mother tongue terminology'

The article is devoted to the linguistic terminology teaching problems in native language classes of elementary school, teaching pupils to determine the levels and sections, as well as understanding the differences between language levels and linguistic phenomena.

Abstract Széchenyi studied the linguistic issue, the problems he faced during his public and literary activities with the caution and precision that characterize him. His inquiry into the question of language is marked by nuanced and precise terminology. The distinction between the notions of mother tongue and national language, as well as multilingualism and plurilingualism, are consistent throughout his work. In his conception, the mother tongue is the variety of a given language that is acquired by the speaker in the most intimate environment and through which he/she is linked with the communicational processes of the language community’s social interactions. The national language in his interpretation is the cultivated variety of the mother tongue, which is the language of public life and that of bourgeois national literature as well. In language use, he propagated the principle of linguistic tolerance. He considered the use of the mother tongue a right of every nation (language community). He recognized Europe’s linguistic and national diversity as a value that must be safeguarded and nurtured.

The paper investigated the local implementation of the National Policy of Education (NPE) on the use of mother tongues or the languages of the immediate community. Using a case study approach of Yoruba medium of instruction in Ikire in the south-western part of Nigeria, data were collected from 50 teachers from both private and public schools. These respondents were selected on being able to satisfy the following conditions: first, they should be able to communicate in Yoruba; second, they should have adequate teaching experience; third, they should have good academic qualifications; and fourth, they should have been teaching, for more than a year, Elementary Science (the particular classroom subject the study examined being taught to the pupils). These conditions ensured the teachers engaged had cognate experience in teaching a science subject that can reveal the level of terminology development within Yoruba as an adequate medium of mother tongue instruction. The result affirmed the advantages of Yoruba medium of instruction over English; however, Yoruba was not exclusively used for the pupils contrary to the expectation in the mother tongue medium of instruction policy. Most of the teachers used in the study preferred to employ a bilingual mode of instruction combining Yoruba with English, claiming that English had better educational resources for the subject they were teaching. This paper, though, based on a local case study, can be used to estimate the expected limitation to be encountered while implementing mother tongue instruction in a similar linguistic domain.

In 1992, the International Organization for Standardization (ISO) published a revised edition of the International Standard ISO 31, Quantities and Units. This standard consists of fourteen different parts (published as a single volume in 1993) and is issued in English (E) and French (F). The revision revealed many questions — new as well as old ones — about the terminology for quantities and units. Some of these questions concerning English terminology are discussed in this article. Comparison with German (D) and Swedish (S), since it is the author's mother tongue, is also made in some cases.

In 1986, Abdurahmān Maḥamad Qorām published a Harari Grammar which made him the first Harari to describe his mother tongue in the language, itself. For this purpose he had to invent a grammatical terminology in Harari. 26 years later, Ali Naji, also a native speaker, used in his book on Harari grammar almost the same terms. That shows that Qorām’s terminology has won acceptance in the meantime.The present article investigates the means which Qorām applied to create the new terminology. Rarely he took over the terms of foreign languages unchanged. More often he translated Arabic, English and Amharic terms. In most cases, however, he formed new expressions, exploiting the inherent lingusitic possibilities of the Harari language.

The article deals with the phenomenon of gaps in legal terminology of the English language from the point of view of its Russian translation. The author analyzes the approaches to understanding lexical gaps. Examples of terminological gaps have been selected from English-English explanatory dictionaries. The selected terminological units have no equivalents in legal terminology of the Russian language. The study reveals the role of the commentary in rendering the meaning of terminological gaps. While considering the factors determining the existence of gaps, the author pays attention to both linguistic and extra-linguistic factors. The research revealed a number of lexical gaps among the terms of international law. English-Russian termninological dictionaries in some cases contain the explanations of notional gaps. The use of transliteration is a signal of notional gap. The conclusion is made about the connection between the perception of gaps and the structures of one’s mother tongue. The social and historical character of the gaps under study has been proved to be well-grounded. The author emphasizes the importance of detailed definitions for adequate rendering of the gaps.

The aim of the article is to reflect the theoretical premises in the construction of the specific model of technical terminology exploitation in the Romanian language by allophone students. The theoretical and practical studies devoted to professional languages, mentioned in this paper, have been fundamental elements of the pedagogical model developed for the objective of the research. The models reflected in the Common European Framework of Reference for languages, designed for formative actions, which constitute a privileged opening in supporting the formation of communicative competence in a language other than the mother tongue, served as the basis: Model of development of generalindividual competences; Model of extension and diversification of linguistic communicative competence; Model of performing the determined communicative activity (-ies); Model of optimal functional insertion in a particular domain; Model of enrichment/diversification of strategies in terms of performing tasks. Communicative competence is a category that reflects the authors' point of view equating communicative competence and terminological competence, element in the reference system ofprofessional and personal training purposes. In conclusion, the modeling construct represented in Figure 3 defines the plan to affirm the coordinates of the methodology for valuing technical terminology in higher education (formative and operational), which will be concretized at the level of performance achieved at graduation integrating the technical terminology into a message for various communication contexts.

Hungarian healthcare providers – as most of their colleagues around the world – engage in interaction with foreign patients, whom they do not share a mother tongue with, in English as a lingua franca (ELF) most of the time. These communicative situations pose great challenges to healthcare providers, as they have to be capable of adjusting their language use to their patients’ cognitive, linguistic and communicative-pragmatic schemata which often differ from their own. In order to develop such a capacity, ESP classes must focus on improving health science students’ awareness in exploring various ELF contexts which form ground for making informed decisions on the use of terminology. The present research aims at showing the complex dynamic nature of these ELF contexts based on empirical data collected via interviews with Hungarian healthcare providers who have extended experience in working with patients in international environments. The results can inform the everyday practice of ESP teachers in the field of the health sciences.

Hungarian healthcare providers – as most of their colleagues around the world – engage in interaction with foreign patients, whom they do not share a mother tongue with, in English as a lingua franca (ELF) most of the time. These communicative situations pose great challenges to healthcare providers, as they have to be capable of adjusting their language use to their patients’ cognitive, linguistic and communicative-pragmatic schemata which often differ from their own. In order to develop such a capacity, ESP classes must focus on improving health science students’ awareness in exploring various ELF contexts which form ground for making informed decisions on the use of terminology. The present research aims at showing the complex dynamic nature of these ELF contexts based on empirical data collected via interviews with Hungarian healthcare providers who have extended experience in working with patients in international environments. The results can inform the everyday practice of ESP teachers in the field of the health sciences.

I Danmark er der med de nye Fælles Mål fra 2014 indført et krav om, at eleverne skal kunne lave større multimodale produktioner. Også i de øvrige skandinaviske lande indgår arbejde med multimodale tekster med forskellig betegnelse i læreplanen for modersmålsfaget. Det er således relevant at undersøge, hvad man ved om elevers produktion af multimodale tekster. Denne artikel bidrager med en gennemgang af nordisk forskning inden for området og med udblik til den øvrige vestlige verden. Teoretisk beskrives multimodalitet med udgangspunkt i New London Groups programartikel fra 1996 og den udvikling af multimodalitet, som gruppen omkring Kress og van Leeuwen har bidraget med. Resultaterne af forskningsgennemgangen præsenteres i fem temaer: terminologi, didaktik, undervisning, elevudbytte og vurdering. Diskussion pågår løbende inden for hvert tema, og der peges på didaktiske perspektiver.Nøgleord: multimodale tekster, tekstkompetence, elevpræstation, skrive-pædagogik, produktion, vurderingAbstractIn the new curriculum for the subject Danish from 2014, it is a requirement that students should be able to create major multimodal productions. Working with multimodal texts in the mother tongue subject is included in the curricula for all three Scandinavian countries. Therefore, it is relevant to consider what is already recognized as students’ production of multi-modal texts. This article offers a brief review based on the Nordic research together with a brief look towards the rest of the Western world’s research on multimodality. This paper’s theoretical foundation is based on the New London Group’s article from 1996, “Pedagogy of Multiliteracies: Designing Social Futures”, and the development of multimodality that re-searchers and scholars surrounding Kress and van Leeuwen have contributed with. The results of the research will be presented in the following five themes: terminology, education, teaching, pupil performance, and assessment. Furthermore, the results are discussed within each theme and the didactic perspectives are identified.Key words: multimodal texts, text competence, student achievement, teaching of writing, text production, assessment

RESUMO Lingvoplanado, socia evoluigo kaj terminologio: Ĉu mito? La ekzemplo de Madagaskaro La kunteksto de franca lingvouzo liveras fonon por komparo inter Kebekio kaj Madagaskaro, du ŝtatoj, kiuj aktive realigas projektojn de lingva modernigo. En Kebekio, la franca estas la origina denaska lingvo, dum en Madagaskaro ĝi estas adoptita. En la kebeka socio, la franca konsistigas la celon de la lingvoplanado, dum en Madagaskaro gia rolo kiel deiropunkto ne estas komplete klara. Oni analizas la du situaciojn el la du neapartigeblaj vidpunktoj de politiko kaj lingvistiko. Krome, lingva antaǔenigo estas ligita al teknologia transigo, kiu antaǔsupozigas regon super importita teknologio. Čiu ajn tia rego havas plurajn aspektojn; precipe, alkutimiĝo al la objektoj kaj konceptoj ligigas kun la tereno de lingvouzo, kiu estas aparte sentoplena en antaǔindustriaj landoj. La aǔtoro faras distingon inter la enkonduko de terminologio ene de socio kies lingvo estas bone dokumentita, kaj gia enkonduko ene de socio al kies lingvo mankas vortaroj kaj grama-tikaj libroj. SUMMARY Language Planning, Social Development, and Terminology: A Myth? The Example of Madagascar The context of French language use serves as a background for a comparison between Québec and Madagascar, two states that are actively engaged in linguistic modernization projects. In Québec, French is the original mother tongue, whereas in Madagascar it is an adopted one. For Québec society, French constitutes the goal for language planning, whereas for Madagascar society, its status as the starting point is not completely clear. The analysis of the two situations is conducted from the two inseparable viewpoints of politics and linguistics. In addition, language promotion is related to technological transfer, which presupposes control over and mastery of imported technology. Any such control involves several aspects; in particular, familiarization with the objects and concepts involves the area of language use, which is especially sensitive in preindustrial nations. The author distinguishes the introduction of teminology within a society for which the language is well documented from its introduction within a society whose language is lacking in dictionaries and grammars.

The present paper is a partial research work within the author’s dissertation thesis and seeks evidence to refute or support the hypothesis that interpreters are more effective in terms of quality when working into their mother tongue in comparison with interpreters working between two foreign languages. The data for this study were collected via interpreting questionnaires with thirteen selected criteria (e.g. native accent, pleasant voice, exaggerated fillers, fluency of delivery, logical cohesion, sense consistency, completeness of interpretation, significant omissions, use of correct terminology, etc.) that had been filled out (assessed on a 5-grade scale) by three target groups (professional interpreters, students of interpreting and so-called delegates), after having listened to three records of simultaneous interpretation (from English into Russian/Ukrainian). The records include three conference interpretations of a speech by NATO Secretary-General, Jens Stoltenberg, delivered in English on defensce and political topics. Two of the three interpreters (N 1 and N 2) are native speakers of the target language, while the third interpreter (N 3) works between two foreign languages. This paper presents the results for three target groups’ rating of the selected quality criteria for simultaneous interpretation. The aim of the present paper lies within comparing the output-related quality of B to A language interpreting vs. B to B language interpreting from the audience quality perception point of view.

The cognitive process and one of its most difficult aspects – translation into different languages - is an obstacle to creating a perfect Artificial Intelligence, because translation is not limited to formulas. The accuracy of the terminology and the lack of ambiguity of the word are the purposes of artificial intelligence while limiting the development of linguistic thinking. The transhumanism involves the improvement of the man, as an unfinished link of evolution, based on his connection with technological elements. From the author`s point of view, the “man-machine” interaction offers a dubious advantage for the human civilization and the planetary ecological system. This is, first of all, anachronistic and its main goal is singularity, i.e., the management of intellectual energy within the strict framework of technology. The article schematically provides the explicit sequence of the translation process. Based on relevant examples, the author demonstrates the difference between mental operations of Artificial Intelligence and those of the man in the translation process. According to the author, translation is a universal feature of human thought, while the process of translating the thought into the speech form is due to biological-genetic, emotional, socio-historical memory and experience, as well as the possibility of the individual translation of the thought into the mother tongue and into any other language. Moreover, translation is one of the strongest survival qualities of homo sapiens.

The book “Russian common folk herbalists and healers: a collection of medical manuscripts of the 16th and 17th centuries”, published by Professor V. M. Florinsky (Kazan, 1879) is analyzed. The importance of the study of written monuments of medical content for studying the history of the formation of Russian medical terminology is emphasized. The importance of studying the “Herbalist” and the “Book called cool garden” included in the collection of Florinsky is substantiated. The uniqueness of the language situation in which the named monuments were created is noted - the end of the XVII - the beginning of the XVIII centuries. The objectives of the study are listed. They include identifying the names of diseases and disease states. Word-formation models characteristic of these items are described. Nominative phrases are considered, which play the role of preterm in the professional speech of physicians. It is concluded that the processes of term formation in the Russian medical field, as well as descriptions of painful conditions, were carried out at first using the resources of the mother tongue, which coincided with the idea of the national language norm. Attention is drawn to the fact that the combination of Russianisms, Slavisms and borrowed words in the sources studied can serve as confirmation of the hypothesis about the formation of a new book type of language in which the stylistic neutralization of the genetic differences of lexemes begins.

Summary Antonio de Nebrija (1444?–1522) published his Gramática Castellana in 1492, at a time when humanist appreciation of Castilian as a cultural language had not yet advanced to a discussion of its possibilities to become an established norm. However, an analysis of Nebrija’s linguistic and grammatical theories does shed some light on this question. For instance, it becomes clear that the new method which he proposes for the teaching of Latin (nova ratio Nebrissensis) presupposed a recognition of the presence of universal grammatical concepts in the pupil’s mother tongue. Such a conception is possible because Nebrija accepts an essential starting point of the medieval speculative tradition: language composition may be reduced to two basic concepts: materia (lexical element submitted to ‘corruption’) and forma (other elements – ‘accidents’ – which are stable). This composition is common to all languages. Therefore, Nebrija holds that by making use of the constrastive method it is possible to study two languages such as Latin and Castilian (which also happen to be closely related). Therefore, we must not consider the Gramática Castellana as separate from the rest of Nebrija’s scholarly production. He himself had coined the notion of ‘unity in diversity’ concerning his grammatical work. In order to teach the Castilian language and, starting from Castilian, Latin, Nebrija writes grammatical and lexicographical works which have an underlying unity. His general approach was exclusive to Nebrija; however, although nobody before him had worked out such an ambitious project, there is no doubt that he was continuing on the way in which grammatical tradition had been heading for some time. An example of this tradition is the so-called Grarnmatica proverbiandi. In this paper, the main features of this kind of medieyal grammar are analyzed. It is argued that they constitute the immediate precursor of the Nebrija’s undertaking, since we find in them didactic postulates which he developed further. These postulates led Nebrija to a contrastive grammar of Latin and Castilian and the creation of a grammatical terminology for the vernacular.

Introduction. In the process of bilingual education, schoolchildren must not only qualitatively master the content of the subject but also overcome language difficulties. There is a connection between speech and mathematical activities. The essence and structure of bilingual mathematical competence are based on this relationship, allowing bilingual students to effectively acquire knowledge in the conditions of national-Russian bilingualism. We have also proposed ways of forming bilingual mathematical competence focused on developing mathematical speech culture and teaching schoolchildren to use multicultural knowledge. Aim. The article aims to characterize the pedagogical conditions directed at the emergence of bilingual mathematical competence among basic school students (grades 5 to 9) within national-Russian bilingualism. Material and methods. The study relies on theoretical methods of comparative analysis, synthesis, and generalization provided by the scientific and methodological literature on the researched topic. Results and discussion. Works indicating a clear relationship between the language of instruction and the subject of Mathematics were analyzed. The need to take into account the mother tongue of schoolchildren in bilingual education was established. In addition, it was found that the degree of native and Russian language proficiency affects the mathematics achievement of bilingual students. According to the analysis, bilingual education should lead to the emergence of competencies distinguished by a high level of language proficiency and high-quality mastering of the subject. Conclusion. The concept of “bilingual mathematical competence” got a detailed description in the course of the research. This concept combines components of a school subject, languages ( native and Russian), and a component of intercultural communication. The following pedagogical components were described: 1) tasks aimed at mastering terminology, symbols, and graphic images; verbal and logical constructions of the mathematical language; written educational texts; 2) illustrated Yakut-Russian, Russian-Yakut terminological dictionary in mathematics for the 5th and 6th grades, which includes 349 terms and set phrases; 3) bilingual strategies aimed at reducing the linguistic complexity of mathematical problems (by replacing unfamiliar or rare words; changing the passive voice to active verb forms; reducing long names and indications; highlighting individual conditional sentences, or changing the order of the conditional and main sentences; replacing complex questions to simple ones; clarification of abstractions using more specific information); 4) methods and techniques of bilingual teaching of mathematics (consecutive translation, visual aids, immersion teaching, semantization); 5) tasks that contain historical, ethnocultural, and local history materials.

The article presents the examples of comparing chemical terms in the Chinese and Russian languages and the results of two experiments conducted with Chinese and Russian students. The first part of the work deals with a comparison of the one–component chemical element names from the periodic table. Then, it continues with dividing different chemical terms in Chinese into several groups: two–component, three–component, four–component, multicomponent group and comparing them with its analogical terms in Russian to analyze the main difficulties in understanding these terms in both languages. The second part of the work presents the main difficulties, revealed during two experiments, conducted with Chinese and Russian students. The students were given texts in their mother tongues with a chemical context, which they wrote and read noting the time. At the end of the work, all the advantages and complexities revealed in the results of the first and second parts of the work were calculated. Similar language comparisons are becoming more relevant in the last few years, for they contribute to development of methods of analyzing languages and discovering new and improved approaches to the study and use of languages.

The book titled Curriculum Development, Materials Design and Methodologies: Trends and Issues, brings together contributions that offer an insight into innovative strategies, noteworthy ideas and stimulating methods of teaching English used by teachers in their ESL Classrooms. The main objective of this book is to provoke the reader to bring in his or her own expertise and expand the learning possibilities in language teaching methods. It invites to self-reflection, and ultimately to self-improvement and development in order to achieve successful teaching and learning. It is structured into six major sections, dealing with various topics, as follows: I. Innovative teaching strategies (Chapters 1-5), II. Teaching strategies and language learning issues (Chapters 6-9), III. A review of past language teaching methodology – principles and practices (Chapters 10-15), IV. Using multimedia in English language teaching (Chapters 16-18), V. Curriculum design in the ELT/EFL context (Chapters 19-25) and VI. Teachers’ involvement in the creation, adaptation and selection of teaching materials (Chapters 26-29). Sarjit Kaur and Malini Ganapathy’s contribution, Innovative Ideas to Promote Creative Literacy Practices, tackles the concept of multiliteracy and its association with ICT’s and multimedia that underpin culturally-specific forms of literacy in pluralistic societies. Shobha Shinde, in Innovative Strategies in English Teaching – Learning in the Rural Context deals with strategies that teachers can adopt in a rural learning environment, where students are little exposed to authentic English language. The Use of Adapted Movies from Novels (The Kite Runner and The Namesake) as a Way to Stimulate Reading for Malaysian Students by Saabdev Kumar Sabapathy and Swagata Sinha Roy investigates the benefits of classroom reading practice, through watching a movie. Siti Rafizah Fatimah Osman and Mohamad Jafre Zainol Abidin’s contribution, Role-Play: Taking the Line of Least Resistance presents the way in which experiential learning, through role-play, contributes to the development of learner autonomy. The fifth chapter, A New Horizon in Writing Classes: Increasing Learners’ Autonomy, by Leily Ziglary and Rouzbeh Khalili explores the importance of collocations in language teaching. Language Learning Strategies: Current Issues, by Nafiseh Salehi and Rahim Kaviani examines learning strategies that are conducive to learner autonomy and empowerment. Mariah Ibrahim and Mohamad Jafre Zainol Abidin discuss in their chapter, Pedagogy of the Heart: Understanding Resistance in the English Language Classroom, the way in which students’ skills, behaviours, attitudes and interests are affected by what students actually bring from outside the classroom. The eighth chapter, Students’ and Teachers’ Preferences of ESL Classroom Activities, by Punitha Vayaravasamy and Anna Christina Abdullah brings forth the results of research into how teachers’ teaching is being received by Malaysian rural secondary school students. Innovative Ways of Teaching English and Foreign Languages by Peggy Tan Pek Tao looks into how drama and games improve students’ confidence and communicative skills. Collin Jerome’s contribution, titled What Do They Really Need? Developing Reading Activities to Explore the Elements in Literary Texts investigates the attitudes and opinions of undergraduate TESL and ESL students currently taking a specialised literature course. Chapter 11, The Teaching of Writing: Looking at the Real Classroom Scenes, by Mohd. Saat Abbas, Suzihana Shaharan and Yahya Che Lah discusses the efficiency of teaching methods for the development of writing skills in the case of rural secondary school students. Feedback in Process Genre-Based Approach to Teaching Technical Writing, by Shahrina Md Nordin, Norhisham Mohammad and Ena Bhattacharyya examines the role feedback plays in boosting students’ motivation for further study. Sohel Ahmed Chowdhury’s chapter, Lesson Plan and Its Importance in English Language Classroom, analyses the importance of planning, especially in schools with limited resources and teaching aids. Chapter 14, Unteaching Strategies: An Approach Based on Error Analysis, Learners’ Learning Strategies and Task-Based Instruction, by Ma’ssoumeh Bemani Naeini and Ambigapathy Pandian Su-Hie Ting and Mahanita Mahadhir’s contribution, Letting Communicative Purpose Direct Teaching of Grammar: Using the Text-Based Approach, introduces the idea of using the mother tongue in order to achieve the success of their tasks. Annotations in Multimedia On-Screen Text in Comparison to the Printed Text in Enhancing Learners’ of Process-Based Expository Text in Malaysia, by Saraswathy Thurairaj assesses whether the annotations identified in a multimedia on-screen text enable and enhance learners’ comprehension ability. Chapter 17, by Sarjit Kaur and Wong Chiew Lee, titled Transforming ESL Teaching by Embedding Information and Web Literacies into the Classroom, aims at identifying a what a computer-literate student’s skills are and how computer literacy should be integrated within the ESL classroom. Inranee R. Liew’s text, Scary Spiders and Beautiful Butterflies: A Creative Multimedia Approach to Develop Information Literacy Skills in the Integrated Science and English Classroom reinforces the importance of developing and using information literacy skills for lifelong learning. Chapter 19, The ESL Curriculum as an Additional Resource for Making Meaning, by Amy B.M. Tsui provides methodological guidelines as to teaching through story-writing. Mohamed Abu Bakar discusses the importance of teaching presentation skills in his chapter titled Speaking in the Language Curriculum: The Challenges of Presenting. In Chapter 21, GOLDEN RICE: Using Simulations in EAP Classes, Shashi Naidu tackles the issue of adapting simulations for Malaysian EAP classrooms at tertiary level. Are the Teaching Practices of Preschool Teachers in Accordance with the Principles and Learning Components of the National Preschool Curriculum? by Lily Law presents the result of a study aiming at assessing activities meant to meet the requirements of the National Preschool Curriculum. Mohammad Alshehab discusses in his chapter, The Contribution of Language Planning on Military Terminology provides practical suggestions as to the development of military students’ specialised lexicon. Chapter 24, The EFL Constructivist Classroom, by Hosna Hosseini, provides useful information for syllabus designers in organizing the curriculum based on “constructivist epistemology”. Zhang Xiaohong’s contribution, The Role of EFL Teachers’ Knowledge in Current EFL Curriculum Reform: An Understanding from a Reconstructionist Perspective tackles the importance of reconstructionist philosophy for teacher continuous education. Chapter 26, Using Materials Development to Bridge the Gap Between Theory and Practice, by Brian Tomlinson advocates the process of materials development in boosting teacher’s confidence and students’ involvement. Ting Su Hie and Diana Carol discuss in Teething Problems in Materials Development for Teaching Social Interaction Skills in English an experience of adopting a genre-based approach to creating a set of materials aimed at both students and teachers for the teaching of social interaction skills in English. In the chapter Principles to Follow When Adopting and Adapting Textbooks and Materials Earl D. Wyman brings forth a matrix for selecting, adopting or adapting teaching materials. Norhisham Mohamed and Alauyah Johari investigate in Politeness Strategies as an Incorporated Component in Material Development politeness strategies considered as such in a Malay academic setting. All in all, the book is an interesting source of information about the Malaysian educational settings.

The Department of Education in South Africa advocates collaborative and constructivist learning; however, observations indicate that little discussion occurs in most multilingual mathematics classes. In this paper we draw on a pilot study set in the Eastern Cape where teachers were introduced to the theory and practice of exploratory talk, and then tasked to perform an action research project on introducing discussion in their own multilingual mathematics classrooms. The results of the study suggest some successes in terms of teachers initiating exploratory talk and highlight the fact that these successes were only achieved where code switching between English and isiXhosa formed an integral part of the process.

Abstract Background Debates have arisen in various non-English speaking countries over the chosen language of instruction in medical education, whether it has to be the English language or the mother tongue. English-based education supporters argue that English is the leading international language of medicine and research, and a crucial tool for Continuing Medical Education (CME), as well as for students who seek practice abroad. On the other hand, mother-tongue-based medical education supporters present it as a way to endorse communication and comprehension between medical practitioners and health care system users, to bridge the gap between practitioners and the paramedical staff, and to overcome linguistic dualism and the language thinking disparity while studying in another. This study aimed to evaluate one of the simplified bi-lingual approaches in terms of medical-educational-written texts for a non-English speaking population: Arabic speaking medical students in specific. Methods 1546 Arabic-speaking-medical students from different countries participated in a one-step-interactive-experimental-online test. The test assessed participants’ scientific comprehension of three distinct written paragraphs: The first paragraph used conventional mother tongue (Arabic), the second combined English terminology and simplified mother tongue (hybrid), and the third used an English excerpt (English). Two multiple-choice questions (First question in Arabic, second in English) followed each paragraph. Response time was communicated for each paragraph. Participants were asked to select their favorable method. Repeated Measures ANOVA models and Paired Samples t-Test were used for statistical analysis. Results Participants scored a mean of [0.10] for the Arabic paragraph, [0.72] for the hybrid paragraph, and [0.24] for the English paragraph (P < 0.001). Results showed a significantly higher mean of points and correct answers within the fastest time for the hybrid paragraph [0.68] compared to the Arabic [0.08] and English [0.18] paragraphs (P < 0.001). Moreover, 50% of participants preferred the hybrid paragraph over the other two paragraphs. Conclusions Taking into consideration the large number of participants and the statistically significant results, authors propose that simplified Arabic combined with English terminology may present a viable alternative method for medical-educational-written texts in Arabic-speaking population.

This paper offers an observation and discussion on the relevance and scope of presence of translation within English for Specific Purposes courses in academic settings of the Faculty of Electronic Engineering and Faculty of Medicine, University of Niš. There is concern with methodological issues of translation skills regarding domain terminology. This subsumes translation methodology, finding precise target language equivalents, as well as determining whether to translate a text, respecting the syntax of the target language, or to paraphrase it with the primary aim to most precisely convey information contained in the original. The main argument and the issue of the survey conducted with the students of both faculties is direct correlation between translation, or absence of it for that matter, and the cognition of the domain content taught. Then, there is an emphasis on a wider social context that implies inducing in students the awareness of the responsibility they as future professionals and experts in their field have towards their own mother tongue in the dissemination of content knowledge. It is common in the Serbian scientific and professional environment that the translation of scientific texts in English is done by domain experts without consulting linguists, philologists of Serbian language. The consequence is mere (and often incorrect) transliteration of English scientific terminology, and ultimately uncurbed influx of foreign terminology. Yet another argument on the relevance of the previous one is that translation enhances soft transversal skills such as thoughtfulness and critical thinking which among others benefit comprehension of the domain knowledge, as it has been noted that professors, and then students use the English terminology while speaking Serbian, where the latter group do not fully understand the content presented in such scientific ‘newspeak’. The paper presents concrete teaching practice which has for its goal inducing the students with cautiousness when choosing professional terminology in either language.

Hors d’oeuvre The popularity of cookbooks and culinary television shows in the last few years has been the origin of all sorts of new phenomena, such as literature crossing the bridge from cookbooks to such subgenres as food memoirs and culinary travelogues, or the discovery of new food cultures and food vocabulary. We can now cook the Basque menestra following the recipe of the famous blogger and cookbook author, Aran Goayaga, or try our hand at the Chinese soup tangyuan from Leslie Li’s Daughter of Heaven regardless of where we live. But how well does food translate across languages and cultures? I know what to expect from menestra as I am familiar with the Italian minestrone, which was introduced into the western dialects of Slovene as mineštra. But when reading about tangyuan, there is no mental image, much less a taste imprint, accompanying the word. Language and food are closely linked, if for nothing else, for the fact that the mouth is instrumental in both. For language, the oral cavity is the means of expression, for food it is the means for reception and tasting. It is like an intersection where language and food meet. When we reminisce about a favourite childhood dish or food, we can virtually taste it only by saying the word. The senses, supported by emotions, are a powerful tool, a reliable memory. It is for this reason that sometimes emotions are more easily expressed through food than with words, such as Tita’s longing and desperation in Laura Esquivel’s Like Water for Chocolate. It is perhaps because of this inability to truly verbalise the wonder and deliciousness of food that when translating food between different languages and cultures, meanings and tastes can become unclear or lost. Appetiser In less exact culinary genres, such as food memoirs, difficult translations can be tackled by using approximate and roundabout descriptions. “Metaphors are very plentiful, evocative, and useful in food memoirs. They are often created to explain exotic foods and culinary practices in terms that are more familiar to [...] readers” (Waxman 373). Similarly, in an interview about multiculturalism and identity, Homi Bhabha suggests that “all forms of culture are in some ways related to each other” and thus translatable (Rutherford 209–10). However, Bhabha is also referring to metaphors, myths, and symbols. Food, however, is a very particular ingredient of culture that cannot be always expressed with metaphors when translated. Cookbooks require an exact terminology; metaphors are of little help when a soufflé collapses or steaks end up overdone. Yet despite cultural, ethnic, religious, and other differences, there are certain concepts, such as beauty, that can be almost universally appreciated. Kant’s notion of “common sense“ explains what enables us to comprehend and appreciate beauty. By this universal communicability Kant “means that humans all must have a kind of sensing ability which operates the same way” (Burnham). This sensing ability could easily be expanded onto the beauty (and deliciousness) of food. After all, just as everyone can appreciate the magnificence of a Renoir, they can enjoy the satisfying mix of spices and herbs in a steak tartare, regardless of their mother tongue. And yet, when food is transformed into a written recipe and the language becomes a barrier, the opportunity for misunderstanding becomes greater. Walter Benjamin maintains that in translation, “the transfer can never be total [...] Even when all the surface content has been extracted and transmitted, the primary concern of the genuine translator remains elusive. Unlike the words of the original, it is not translatable, because the relationship between content and language is quite different in the original and the translation” (19). Furthermore, translation “implies adapting the meaning of a proposition, enabling it to pass from one code to another” (Bourriaud 30). If translation means adaptation, then in the process we lose the nuances of dishes that differ from one village to the next, not to mention from one nation to another at the other end of the world. And with this, we can lose subtle “insights into cultures” (Waxman 364). Brett Jocelyn Epstein, a translator and editor of a number of cookbooks, enumerates several issues that cause trouble when translating culinary texts, among them the availability of ingredients, different cuts of meats, measurements, and the kitchen equipment. While all are of equal importance for the translation of a text, let us focus on the difficulties that can arise when translating the ingredients that can sometimes be essential for a dish but difficult to find in a foreign country. Epstein emphasizes that simply substituting an ingredient with a more easily obtainable one is not an appropriate solution if this is repeated throughout a cookbook for recipe after recipe, ingredient after ingredient. There are limits to the changes a translator can make in a text; limits that turn one dish into an entirely new fare with a host of new ingredients. Instead, Epstein suggests keeping the original ingredients, but adding a list of possible substitutes. National Dish Let us have a look at an edible example. In France, crème fraîche is a naturally fermented thick cream, but the version sold in the UK is fermented by adding sour cream, buttermilk, or yoghurt. In North Wales it is known as “croghurt“ (a portmanteau word for “cream and yoghurt“) (Ayto 103). Crème fraîche, although slightly sour with pH of about 4.5, is not sour cream, but in many countries sour cream is used as a substitute because the French version is unobtainable. On the contrary, in Italy, it is near impossible to find sour cream. There is no tradition of using it in Italian cuisine, and it is mostly immigrants from other countries, such as Ukrainians, Poles, or Slovenians, who use it in their cooking. Panna acida or panna agra, as sour cream is known in Italy, is being imported and only sold in selected shops. As another example, the Swedes use filmjölk and gräddfil which are most often translated as yoghurt and cultivated buttermilk respectively, although these translations are mere approximations. Filmjölk may resemble yoghurt in consistency but it is fermented by different bacteria that give it a less sour taste. Gräddfil is a little thicker than yoghurt and also not as sour. Then there are kefir, piimä, kumis, lassi, ayran, and clabber, to mention just a few related, but different, products. How do such untranslatable ingredients affect the final outcome? Crêpes with fruit and sour cream are not quite the same as with crème fraîche; sour cream lacks the creaminess of the crème and has a tangier taste. Worse still, sour cream can curdle when added to a soup and heated, while crème fraîche does not. It is evident then, that culinary translation affects more than just words. This is not, however, only a matter for chefs and cooks to consider; it is also an issue when an author wants to share traditional dishes with readers of other nationalities and especially when the core ingredients of their (or their country’s) signature dishes are not available globally. I am not here referring only to such unusual ingredients as the honeypot ants used in bush tucker. Some foods, despite the logistics accessibility of every nook and cranny of our world, are sometimes still difficult or impossible to obtain outside their place of origin simply for the lack of a high enough demand. Is it, then, better to stick to the original ingredients and keep the integrity of the recipe, or is it better to adapt the dish to another culture or let it exist between cultures? Would we rather our recipe remain a “wannabe dish” because readers are unable to find the ingredients for it, or would we prefer for them to enjoy an approximation of our creation? Linguist, anthropologist, and renowned chef, Rick Bayless, tackles the translation of food the same way he would translate languages. He introduced countless Mexican dishes into the North American cuisine through his award-winning Mexican restaurants, cookbooks, and his television show Mexico–One Plate at a Time. He looks at the issue of translation not solely from the point of view of the original cuisine, but also from the perspective of the target audience. “You have to really understand both cultures. Not just the words, not just the ingredients or the dishes out of context, but you have to understand it on a much broader perspective” (Translating Food). He is trying to present traditional Mexican dishes in a way that will make them “understandable“ in the American context. Bayless maintains that “people will cook a dish exactly the way it's done in the host culture,” but that makes it “this sort of relic that’s not understandable” in the target culture’s context. Or as German writer and poet, Rudolf Pannwitz, stated, “our translations, even the best ones, proceed from a wrong premise. They want to turn Hindi, Greek, English into German instead of turning German into Hindi, Greek, English” (qtd. in Benjamin 22). The more ingredients, the more complex the situation becomes, and sometimes a dish is near impossible to translate because of its cultural specificity. Mostly, such names of dishes are kept in the original, like polenta, sushi, or the already mentioned tangyuan. But particularly smaller nations, with subsequently smaller languages, feel the need to make their dishes more recognisable. For example, certain Slovenian dishes, such as idrijski žlikrofi, are registered as a traditional speciality (TSG) at the European Commission but even as such they often have poor recognisability. The same is true of other typical Slovenian dishes; while well known and appreciated at home, they are often quite unknown outside the country’s borders. Consequently, to reach higher recognisability, we often over-translate. Fig. 1. The Making of idrijski žlikrofi. 2013. The Author. An example of this is a Slovenian dessert whose established name in English is the “Prekmurian layer cake“ (a layered cake with apples, poppy seeds, cottage cheese and walnuts from the Prekmurje region, a region across the river Mura). However, it happens quite often that you will receive a decidedly different translation if you ask a waiter in a restaurant or people on the street what prekmurska gibanica is. Someone at some point literally translated it as the “over Mura moving cake“ (gibanica contains the morpheme gib- meaning “movement, motion“, hence “moving cake“, although it has nothing to do with moving). The wrong translation is probably mentioned more often than the correct one and it is so nonsensical that it has been preserved as a running joke, while some still think it is a correct translation. Another quandary for the translator is the existence of words that denote different dishes in one language. Within hundred kilometres of my hometown, the name fancelj refers to three different culinary delights. We use it to denote an omelette-like dish of beaten eggs with yarrow, lemon balm or other herbs occasionally added to it. In the upper Soča valley, it is known to denote doughnuts. Further to the south, fancelj stands for deep-fried buns similar to what the French call pets-de-nonne (literally “nun’s farts“). Similarly, in Swedish, the terms kaka and tårta quite often overlap in their usage and thus cause confusion when being translated into English (as cake and torte, and sometimes even as cookie, depending on the type of pastry in the original recipe). If one is not familiar with such dialectal distinctions or cultural peculiarities, it is difficult to avoid mistranslations. Such delicate translations also include the Turkish coffee that becomes Greek coffee in Greek bars, French toast that is called pain perdu in France, or Russian salad, called salade russe by the French, but French salad by Slovenians (and salat oliv’e by the Russians). Furthermore, if you order à la mode in France, you will be served beef braised with vegetables. In the US, however, you can only order à la mode for dessert as it means an apple pie or similar dessert served with ice cream (Ayto). These examples are often due to disagreements and misconceptions about who created a certain dish, and wrong usage can cause resentment among the (presumably) wronged parties. Sometimes, delicious bits of information get lost in translation. A Slovenian dialectal word knedelj is usually translated into English as dumpling, a neat and straightforward translation. But in the original word knedelj that was borrowed from the German knödel, related to kneten (Snoj 209), one can detect traces of Proto-Germanic knedanan that developed through Old Saxon knedan into Old English cnedan and today’s knead (Online Etymology Dictionary). The two words, one English and the other dialectal Slovene, originate in the same ancient expression. But I suppose only linguists would find this information worth mulling over for a few seconds before tucking into a wholesome serving of plum dumplings. Considering the aforementioned difficulties of culinary translation, it is not surprising that certain words are often simply left in the original. This is especially true of Italian dishes, such as types of pasta, or certain Asian fares (for more on translating Chinese dishes see Mu 2010). Consequently, many are now familiar with calzone, bento, farfalle, sashimi, zucchini, and zabaglione (the latter of which is also known as sabayon, zabaione, and zabajone). Even once the words find their place in their adoptive language and the users become wholly familiarised with their meaning and thus the problem of translation is avoided, another difficulty arises—that of adapting the word (morphologically) to the new language. Pine nuts in American English are also called pignoli, a word borrowed from Italian. There seems to be considerable confusion as to the plural form of the word in its English usage. Pignoli, originally a plural form of pignolo, “hovers between singular and plural in English”, where subsequently two other plural forms have appeared—pignolia and pignolis (Ayto 277). Dessert For readers, getting to know about other cultures’s foods and their preparation can be very enriching for gaining an understanding of both those particular cultures and, in turn, their own (Waxman), but for writers and translators of cookbooks, food memoirs, culinary travelogues, and other such culturally and culinary specific genres (and especially those from smaller countries), translating food expressions can be challenging. There is no simple rule that helps translate every expression or ingredient. Translations must be carried out on a case-to-case basis, sometimes compromising the food, sometimes the translation. Similarly, as more and more people become nomads in the 21st century, immigrating for economic or political reasons, family, or simply for fun, in the same way food too is becoming a “portable practice” (Bourriaud 33) that crosses boundaries, cultures, and languages. Due to this, food is taking on a new role; its functions “both unifying and divisive” (Waxman 366). The culinary translator’s task should be to translate in such a way that the divisive effect is minimised as much as possible and yet the text retains its cultural flavour. This is difficult, and requires knowledge of both the source and target languages and cultures, but ultimately it can be done. Food and language are like a pair of tango dancers—caught in a passionate embrace, but bickering constantly nonetheless, their tastes too dissimilar. Or, as Isabel Allende suggests, to seduce a lover one needs both food and words: “language is also aphrodisiac in regard to food; commenting on the dishes, their flavours and perfumes, is a sensual exercise for which we have a vast vocabulary filled with wit, metaphors, references, humour, word games, and subtleties” (106). But to seduce with words, we must first taste the food. Perhaps translators and authors of culinary texts are not all accomplished cooks, but it is of great help if they can prepare and taste the dishes and ingredients that they are attempting to adapt to new cultures and environments. References Allende, Isabel. Aphrodite, A Memoir of the Senses. New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 1998. Ayto, John. The Diner’s Dictionary: Word Origins of Food & Drink. UK: Oxford UP, 2012. Benjamin, Walter. “The Task of the Translator.” The Translation Studies Reader. Ed. Lawrence Venuti. London: Routledge, 2004. 15–25. Bourriaud, Nicolas. The Radicant. New York: Lukas & Sternberg, 2010. Burnham, Douglas. “Kant’s Aesthetics.” Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy 30 Jun. 2005. 7 Apr. 2013 ‹http://www.iep.utm.edu/kantaest›. Epstein, Brett Jocelyn. “What’s Cooking: Translating Food.” Translation Journal, 13.3 (2009). 11 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.bokorlang.com/journal/49cooking.htm›. Esquivel, Laura. Like Water for Chocolate. USA: Transworld Publishers, 1989. Goayaga, Aran. Small Plates & Sweet Treats: My Family’s Journey to Gluten-free Cooking. New York: Little, Brown & Company, 2012. Li, Leslie. Daughter of Heaven: A Memoir of Earthly Recipes. New York: Arcade, 2005. Mu, John Congjun. “English Translation of Chinese Dish Names.” Translation Journal 14.4 (Oct. 2010). 8 Apr. 2013 ‹http://www.translationjournal.net/journal/54dishes.htm›. Online Etymology Dictionary. 12 Feb. 2013 ‹http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=knead&allowed_in_frame=0›. Rutherford, Jonathan. “The Third Space: Interview with Homi Bhabha.” Identity: Community, Culture, Difference. Ed. Jonathan Rutherford. London: Lawrence and Wishart, 1990. 207–221. Snoj, Marko. Slovenski etimološki slovar. Ljubljana: Modrijan založba, 2009. “Translating Food.” Visual Thesaurus 23 May 2007. 11 Mar. 2013 ‹https://www.visualthesaurus.com/cm/wc/translating-food›. Waxman, Barbara Frey. “Food Memoirs: What They Are, Why They Are Popular, and Why They Belong in the Literature Classroom.” College English 70.4 (2008): 363–82.

Introduction When a text is said to be re-appropriated, it is at times unclear to what extent this appropriation is secondary, repeated, new; certainly, the difference between a reiteration and an iteration has more to do with emphasis than any (re)duplication. And at a moment in the development of crime fiction in France when the retranslation of now apparently dated French translations of the works of classic American hardboiled novels (especially those of authors like Dashiell Hammett, whose novels were published in Marcel Duhamel’s Série Noire at Gallimard in the decades following the end of the Second World War) is being undertaken with the ostensible aim of taking the French reader back (closer) to the American original, one may well ask where the emphasis now lies. In what ways, for example, is this new form of re-production, of re-imagining the text, more intimately bound to the original, and thus in itself less ‘original’ than its translated predecessors? Or again, is this more reactionary ‘re-’ in fact really that different from those more radical uses that cleaved the translation from its original text in those early, foundational years of twentieth-century French crime fiction? (Re-)Reading: Critical Theory and Originality My juxtaposition of the terms ‘reactionary’ and ‘radical’, and the attempted play on the auto-antonymy of the verb ‘to cleave’, are designed to prompt a re(-)read of the analysis that so famously took the text away from the author in the late-1960s through to the 1990s, which is to say the critical theory of poststructuralism and deconstruction. Roland Barthes’s work (especially 69–77) appropriated the familiar terms of literary analysis and reversed them, making of them perhaps a re-appropriation in the sense of taking them into new territory: the text, formerly a paper-based platform for the written word, was now a virtual interface between the word and its reader, the new locus of the production of meaning; the work, on the other hand, which had previously pertained to the collective creative imaginings of the author, was now synonymous with the physical writing passed on by the author to the reader. And by ‘passed on’ was meant ‘passed over’, achevé (perfected, terminated, put to death)—completed, then, but only insofar as its finite sequence of words was set; for its meaning was henceforth dependent on its end user. The new textual life that surged from the ‘death of the author’ was therefore always already an afterlife, a ‘living on’, to use Jacques Derrida’s term (Bloom et al. 75–176). It is in this context that the re-reading encouraged by Barthes has always appeared to mark a rupture a teasing of ‘reading’ away from the original series of words and the ‘Meaning’ as intended by the author, if any coherence of intention is possible across the finite sequence of words that constitute the written work. The reader must learn to re-read, Barthes implored, or otherwise be condemned to read the same text everywhere. In this sense, the ‘re-’ prefix marks an active engagement with the text, a reflexivity of the act of reading as an act of transformation. The reader whose consumption of the text is passive, merely digestive, will not transform the words (into meaning); and crucially, that reader will not herself be transformed. For this is the power of reflexive reading—when one reads text as text (and not ‘losing oneself’ in the story) one reconstitutes oneself (or, perhaps, loses control of oneself more fully, more productively); not to do so, is to take an unchanged constant (oneself) into every textual encounter and thus to produce sameness in ostensible difference. One who rereads a text and discovers the same story twice will therefore reread even when reading a text for the first time. The hyphen of the re-read, on the other hand, distances the reader from the text; but it also, of course, conjoins. It marks the virtual space where reading occurs, between the physical text and the reading subject; and at the same time, it links all texts in an intertextual arena, such that the reading experience of any one text is informed by the reading of all texts (whether they be works read by an individual reader or works as yet unencountered). Such a theory of reading appears to shift originality so far from the author’s work as almost to render the term obsolete. But the thing about reflexivity is that it depends on the text itself, to which it always returns. As Barbara Johnson has noted, the critical difference marked by Barthes’s understandings of the text, and his calls to re-read it, is not what differentiates it from other texts—the universality of the intertext and the reading space underlines this; instead, it is what differentiates the text from itself (“Critical Difference” 175). And while Barthes’s work packages this differentiation as a rupture, a wrenching of ownership away from the author to a new owner, the work and text appear less violently opposed in the works of the Yale School deconstructionists. In such works as J. Hillis Miller’s “The Critic as Host” (1977), the hyphenation of the re-read is less marked, with re-reading, as a divergence from the text as something self-founding, self-coinciding, emerging as something inherent in the original text. The cleaving of one from and back into the other takes on, in Miller’s essay, the guise of parasitism: the host, a term that etymologically refers to the owner who invites and the guest who is invited, offers a figure for critical reading that reveals the potential for creative readings of ‘meaning’ (what Miller calls the nihilistic text) inside the transparent ‘Meaning’ of the text, by which we recognise one nonetheless autonomous text from another (the metaphysical text). Framed in such terms, reading is a reaction to text, but also an action of text. I should argue then that any engagement with the original is re-actionary—my caveat being that this hyphenation is a marker of auto-antonymy, a link between the text and otherness. Translation and Originality Questions of a translator’s status and the originality of the translated text remain vexed. For scholars of translation studies like Brian Nelson, the product of literary translation can legitimately be said to have been authored by its translator, its status as literary text being equal to that of the original (3; see also Wilson and Gerber). Such questions are no more or less vexed today, however, than they were in the days when criticism was grappling with translation through the lens of deconstruction. To refer again to the remarkable work of Johnson, Derrida’s theorisation of textual ‘living on’—the way in which text, at its inception, primes itself for re-imagining, by dint of the fundamental différance of the chains of signification that are its DNA—bears all the trappings of self-translation. Johnson uses the term ‘self-différance’ (“Taking Fidelity” 146–47) in this respect and notes how Derrida took on board, and discussed with him, the difficulties that he was causing for his translator even as he was writing the ‘original’ text of his essay. If translation, in this framework, is rendered impossible because of the original’s failure to coincide with itself in a transparently meaningful way, then its practice “releases within each text the subversive forces of its own foreignness” (Johnson, “Taking Fidelity” 148), thereby highlighting the debt owed by Derrida’s notion of textual ‘living on’—in (re-)reading—to Walter Benjamin’s understanding of translation as a mode, its translatability, the way in which it primes itself for translation virtually, irrespective of whether or not it is actually translated (70). In this way, translation is a privileged site of textual auto-differentiation, and translated text can, accordingly, be considered every bit as ‘original’ as its source text—simply more reflexive, more aware of its role as a conduit between the words on the page and the re-imagining that they undergo, by which they come to mean, when they are re-activated by the reader. Emily Apter—albeit in a context that has more specifically to do with the possibilities of comparative literature and the real-world challenges of language in war zones—describes the auto-differentiating nature of translation as “a means of repositioning the subject in the world and in history; a means of rendering self-knowledge foreign to itself; a way of denaturalizing citizens, taking them out of the comfort zone of national space, daily ritual, and pre-given domestic arrangements” (6). In this way, translation is “a significant medium of subject re-formation and political change” (Apter 6). Thus, translation lends itself to crime fiction; for both function as highly reflexive sites of transformation: both provide a reader with a heightened sense of the transformation that she is enacting on the text and that she herself embodies as a reading subject, a subject changed by reading. Crime Fiction, Auto-Differention and Translation As has been noted elsewhere (Rolls), Fredric Jameson made an enigmatic reference to crime fiction’s perceived role as the new Realism as part of his plenary lecture at “Telling Truths: Crime Fiction and National Allegory”, a conference held at the University of Wollongong on 6–8 December 2012. He suggested, notably, that one might imagine an author of Scandi-Noir writing in tandem with her translator. While obvious questions of the massive international marketing machine deployed around this contemporary phenomenon come to mind, and I suspect that this is how Jameson’s comment was generally understood, it is tempting to consider this Scandinavian writing scenario in terms of Derrida’s proleptic considerations of his own translator. In this way, crime fiction’s most telling role, as one of the most widely read contemporary literary forms, is its translatability; its haunting descriptions of place (readers, we tend, perhaps precipitously, to assume, love crime fiction for its national, regional or local situatedness) are thus tensely primed for re-location, for Apter’s ‘subject re-formation’. The idea of ‘the new Realism’ of crime, and especially detective, fiction is predicated on the tightly (self-)policed rules according to which crime fiction operates. The reader appears to enter into an investigation alongside the detective, co-authoring the crime text in real (reading) time, only for authorial power to be asserted in the unveiling scene of the denouement. What masquerades as the ultimately writerly text, in Barthes’s terms, turns out to be the ultimate in transparently meaningful literature when the solution is set in stone by the detective. As such, the crime novel is far more dependent on descriptions of the minutiae of everyday life (in a given place in time) than other forms of fiction, as these provide the clues on which its intricate plot hinges. According to this understanding, crime fiction records history and transcribes national allegories. This is not only a convincing way of understanding crime fiction, but it is also an extremely powerful way of harnessing it for the purposes of cultural history. Claire Gorrara, for example, uses the development of French crime fiction plots over the course of the second half of the twentieth century to map France’s coming to terms with the legacy of the Second World War. This is the national allegory written in real time, as the nation heals and moves on, and this is crime fiction as a reaction to national allegory. My contention here, on the other hand, is that crime fiction, like translation, has at its core an inherent, and reflexive, tendency towards otherness. Indeed, this is because crime fiction, whose origins in transnational (and especially Franco-American) literary exchange have been amply mapped but not, I should argue, extrapolated to their fullest extent, is forged in translation. It is widely considered that when Edgar Allan Poe produced his seminal text “The Murders in the Rue Morgue” (1841) he created modern crime fiction. And yet, this was made possible because the text was translated into French by Charles Baudelaire and met with great success in France, far more so indeed than in its original place of authorship. Its original setting, however, was not America but Paris; its translatability as French text preceded, even summoned, its actualisation in the form of Baudelaire’s translation. Furthermore, the birth of the great armchair detective, the exponent of pure, objective deduction, in the form of C. Auguste Dupin, is itself turned on its head, a priori, because Dupin, in this first Parisian short story, always already off-sets objectivity with subjectivity, ratiocination with a tactile apprehension of the scene of the crime. He even goes as far as to accuse the Parisian Prefect of Police of one-dimensional objectivity. (Dupin undoes himself, debunking the myth of his own characterisation, even as he takes to the stage.) In this way, Poe founded his crime fiction on a fundamental tension; and this tension called out to its translator so powerfully that Baudelaire claimed to be translating his own thoughts, as expressed by Poe, even before he had had a chance to think them (see Rolls and Sitbon). Thus, Poe was Parisian avant la lettre, his crime fiction a model for Baudelaire’s own prose poetry, the new voice of critical modernity in the mid-nineteenth century. If Baudelaire went on to write Paris in the form of Paris Spleen (1869), his famous collection of “little prose poems”, both as it is represented (timelessly, poetically) and as it presents itself (in real time, prosaically) at the same time, it was not only because he was spontaneously creating a new national allegory for France based on its cleaving of itself in the wake of Georges-Eugène Haussmann’s massive programme of urbanisation in Paris in the 1800s; it was also because he was translating Poe’s fictionalisation of Paris in his new crime fiction. Crime fiction was born therefore not only simultaneously in France and America but also in the translation zone between the two, in the self-différance of translation. In this way, while a strong claim can be made that modern French crime fiction is predicated on, and reacts to, the auto-differentiation (of critical modernity, of Paris versus Paris) articulated in Baudelaire’s prose poems and therefore tells the national allegory, it is also the case, and it is this aspect that is all too often overlooked, that crime fiction’s birth in Franco-American translation founded the new French national allegory. Re-imagining America in (French) Crime Fiction Pierre Bayard has done more than any other critic in recent years to debunk the authorial power of the detective in crime fiction, beginning with his re-imagining of the solution to Agatha Christie’s The Murder of Roger Ackroyd and continuing with that of Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Hound of the Baskervilles (1998 and 2008, respectively). And yet, even as he has engaged with poststructuralist re-readings of these texts, he has put in place his own solutions, elevating them away from his own initial premise of writerly engagement towards a new metaphysics of “Meaning”, be it ironically or because he has fallen prey himself to the seduction of detectival truth. This reactionary turn, or sting-lessness in the tail, reaches new heights (of irony) in the essay in which he imagines the consequences of liberating novels from their traditional owners and coupling them with new authors (Bayard, Et si les œuvres changeaient d’auteur?). Throughout this essay Bayard systematically prefers the terms “work” and “author” to “text” and “reader”, liberating the text not only from the shackles of traditional notions of authorship but also from the terminological reshuffling of his and others’ critical theory, while at the same time clinging to the necessity for textual meaning to stem from authorship and repackaging what is, in all but terminology, Barthes et al.’s critical theory. Caught up in the bluff and double-bluff of Bayard’s authorial redeployments is a chapter on what is generally considered the greatest work of parody of twentieth-century French crime fiction—Boris Vian’s pseudo-translation of black American author Vernon Sullivan’s novel J’irai cracher sur vos tombes (1946, I Shall Spit on Your Graves). The novel was a best seller in France in 1946, outstripping by far the novels of the Série Noire, whose fame and marketability were predicated on their status as “Translations from the American” and of which it appeared a brazen parody. Bayard’s decision to give credibility to Sullivan as author is at once perverse, because it is clear that he did not exist, and reactionary, because it marks a return to Vian’s original conceit. And yet, it passes for innovative, not (or at least not only) because of Bayard’s brilliance but because of the literary qualities of the original text, which, Bayard argues, must have been written in “American” in order to produce such a powerful description of American society at the time. Bayard’s analysis overlooks (or highlights, if we couch his entire project in a hermeneutics of inversion, based on the deliberate, and ironic, re-reversal of the terms “work” and “text”) two key elements of post-war French crime fiction: the novels of the Série Noire that preceded J’irai cracher sur vos tombes in late 1945 and early 1946 were all written by authors posing as Americans (Peter Cheyney and James Hadley Chase were in fact English) and the translations were deliberately unfaithful both to the original text, which was drastically domesticated, and to any realistic depiction of America. While Anglo-Saxon French Studies has tended to overlook the latter aspect, Frank Lhomeau has highlighted the fact that the America that held sway in the French imaginary (from Liberation through to the 1960s and beyond) was a myth rather than a reality. To take this reasoning one logical, reflexive step further, or in fact less far, the object of Vian’s (highly reflexive) novel, which may better be considered a satire than a parody, can be considered not to be race relations in the United States but the French crime fiction scene in 1946, of which its pseudo-translation (which is to say, a novel not written by an American and not translated) is metonymic (see Vuaille-Barcan, Sitbon and Rolls). (For Isabelle Collombat, “pseudo-translation functions as a mise en abyme of a particular genre” [146, my translation]; this reinforces the idea of a conjunction of translation and crime fiction under the sign of reflexivity.) Re-imagined beneath this wave of colourful translations of would-be American crime novels is a new national allegory for a France emerging from the ruins of German occupation and Allied liberation. The re-imagining of France in the years immediately following the Second World War is therefore not mapped, or imagined again, by crime fiction; rather, the combination of translation and American crime fiction provide the perfect storm for re-creating a national sense of self through the filter of the Other. For what goes for the translator, goes equally for the reader. Conclusion As Johnson notes, “through the foreign language we renew our love-hate intimacy with our mother tongue”; and as such, “in the process of translation from one language to another, the scene of linguistic castration […] is played on center stage, evoking fear and pity and the illusion that all would perhaps have been well if we could simply have stayed at home” (144). This, of course, is just what had happened one hundred years earlier when Baudelaire created a new prose poetics for a new Paris. In order to re-present (both present and represent) Paris, he focused so close on it as to erase it from objective view. And in the same instance of supreme literary creativity, he masked the origins of his own translation praxis: his Paris was also Poe’s, which is to say, an American vision of Paris translated into French by an author who considered his American alter ego to have had his own thoughts in an act of what Bayard would consider anticipatory plagiarism. In this light, his decision to entitle one of the prose poems “Any where out of the world”—in English in the original—can be considered a Derridean reflection on the translation inherent in any original act of literary re-imagination. Paris, crime fiction and translation can thus all be considered privileged sites of re-imagination, which is to say, embodiments of self-différance and “original” acts of re-reading. References Apter, Emily. The Translation Zone: A New Comparative Literature. Princeton: Princeton UP, 2006. Barthes, Roland. Le Bruissement de la langue. Paris: Seuil, 1971. Baudelaire, Charles. Le Spleen de Paris. Trans. Louise Varèse. New York: New Directions, 1970 [1869]. Bayard, Pierre. Qui a tué Roger Ackroyd? Paris: Les Éditions de Minuit, 1998. ———. L’Affaire du chien des Baskerville. Paris: Les Éditions de Minuit, 2008. ———. Et si les œuvres changeaient d’auteur? Paris: Les Éditions de Minuit, 2010. Benjamin, Walter. “The Task of the Translator.” Illuminations. Trans. Harry Zohn. New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc., 1968. 69–82. Bloom, Harold, et al. Deconstruction and Criticism. New York: The Seabury Press, 1979. Collombat, Isabelle. “Pseudo-traduction: la mise en scène de l’altérité.” Le Langage et l’Homme 38.1 (2003): 145–56. Gorrara, Claire. French Crime Fiction and the Second World War: Past Crimes, Present Memories. Manchester: Manchester UP, 2012. Johnson, Barbara. “Taking Fidelity Philosophically.” Difference in Translation. Ed. Joseph F. Graham. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1985. 142–48. ———. “The Critical Difference.” Critical Essays on Roland Barthes. Ed. Diana Knight. New York: G.K. Hall, 2000. 174–82. Lhomeau, Frank. “Le roman ‘noir’ à l’américaine.” Temps noir 4 (2000): 5–33. Miller, J. Hillis. “The Critic as Host.” Critical Inquiry 3.3 (1977): 439–47. Nelson, Brian. “Preface: Translation Lost and Found.” Australian Journal of French Studies 47.1 (2010): 3–7. Poe, Edgar Allan. “The Murders in the Rue Morgue.” Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe. New York: Vintage Books, [1841]1975. 141–68. Rolls, Alistair. “Editor’s Letter: The Undecidable Lightness of Writing Crime.” The Australasian Journal of Popular Culture 3.1 (2014): 3–8. Rolls, Alistair, and Clara Sitbon. “‘Traduit de l’américain’ from Poe to the Série Noire: Baudelaire’s Greatest Hoax?” Modern and Contemporary France 21.1 (2013): 37–53. Vuaille-Barcan, Marie-Laure, Clara Sitbon, and Alistair Rolls. “Jeux textuels et paratextuels dans J’irai cracher sur vos tombes: au-delà du canular.” Romance Studies 32.1 (2014): 16–26. Wilson, Rita, and Leah Gerber, eds. Creative Constraints: Translation and Authorship. Melbourne: Monash UP, 2012.

The effects of translation have been felt in the development of most languages, but it is particularly marked in English language and literature, where it is a highly charged topic because of its fundamental connection with colonial expansion. Britain shaped a "national" literary identity through borrowing from other languages and infected and inflected other languages and literatures in the course of cultural migrations that occurred in Europe since at least the medieval period onward. As Stephen Greenblatt points out in his essay, "Racial Memory and Literary History," the discovery that English is a "mixed, impure, and constantly shifting medium" is not a new one, citing the preface to the first etymological dictionary in English, published in 1689, in which its author describes English as a hybrid tongue: a Composition of most, if not all the Languages of Europe; especially of the Belgick or Low-Dutch, Saxon, Teutonic or High-Dutch, Cambro-British or Welsh, French, Spanish, Italian, and Latin; and now and then of the Old and Modern Danish, and Ancient High-Dutch; also of the Greek, Hebrew, Arabick, Chaldee, Syriack, and Turcick. ((Skinner A3v-A4r, in Greenblatt 52) The "English" literary canon has translated material at its heart; there is the Bible, for instance, and classical works in Greek, which are read and discussed in translation by many who study them. Beowulf is a translation that has been canonized as one of the "original" texts of English literature, and Shakespeare was inspired by translations. Consider, for instance, Greenblatt's description of The Comedy of Errors, where a "Plautine character from a Sicilian city, finding himself in the market square of a city in Asia Minor, invokes Arctic shamanism – and all this had to make sense to a mixed audience in a commercial theater in London" (58), and there is a strong sense of the global cultural discourse that has been translated into a "national" and international canon of literature in English. English as a language and as a literature, however, has not been contained by national boundaries for some time, and in fact is now more comfortably conceived in the plural, or as uncountable, like a multidirectional flow. English has therefore been translated from solid, settled, and certain representations of Anglo-Celtic culture in the singular to a plurality of shifting, hybrid productions and performances which illuminate the tension implicit in cultural exchange. Translation has become a popular trope used by critics to describe that interaction within literatures defined by language rather than nation, and as a mutable and mutual process of reading and reinscription which illuminates relationships of power. The most obvious power relationship that translation represents, of course, is that between the so-called original and the translation; between the creativity of the author and the derivation of the translator. In The Translator's Invisibility (1995), Lawrence Venuti suggests that there is a prevailing conception of the author as a free and unconstrained individual who partially shapes the relationship: "the author freely expresses his thoughts and feelings in writing, which is thus viewed as an original and transparent self-representation, unmediated by transindividual determinants (linguistic, cultural, social) that might complicate authorial individuality" (6). The translation then can only be defined as an inferior representation, "derivative, fake, potentially a false copy" (7) and the translator as performing the translation in the manner of an actor manipulating lines written by someone else: "translators playact as authors, and translations pass for original texts" (7). The transparent translation and the invisibility of the translator, Venuti argues can be seen as "a mystification of troubling proportions, an amazingly successful concealment of the multiple determinants and effects of English-language translation, the multiple hierarchies and exclusions in which it is implicated" (16). That is, translation exerts its own power in constructing identities and representing difference, in addition to the power derived from the "original" text, which, in fact, the translation may resist. Recognition of this power suggests that traditional Western representations of translation as an echo or copy, a slave toiling on the plantation or seductive belle infidèle, each with its clear affinity to sexual and colonial conquest, attempts to deny translation the possibility of its own power and the assertion of its own creative identity. However, the establishment of an alternative power arrangement exists because translations can "masquerade as originals" (Chamberlain 67) and infiltrate and subvert literary systems in disguise. As Susan Stewart contends in Crimes of Writing: Problems in the Containment of Representation, if we "begin with the relation between authority and writing practices rather than with an assumption of authorial originality, we arrive at a quite different sense of history" (9) and, indeed, a different sense of literary creativity. This remainder of this paper will focus on Nicole Brossard's Le désert mauve and Michael Ondaatje's The English Patient, to exemlify how a translator may flaunts her creativity, and allow the cultural position of the translator vis à vis language, history, or gender to be critically exposed by the text itself. Québécoise feminist writer Nicole Brossard's 1987 novel, Le désert mauve [Mauve Desert], is perhaps the most striking example of how a translator foregrounds the creative process of reading and re-writing. Brossard constructed her novel by becoming her own reader and asking questions, imagining dialogues between the characters she had already created. This "interactive discourse" shaped the text, which is a dialogue between two versions of a story, and between two writers, one of whom is an active reader, a translator. Le désert mauve is a structural triptych, consisting of Laure Angstelle's novel, Le désert mauve, and Mauve l'horizon, a translation of Angstelle's book by Maude Laures. In the space between the two sites of writing, the translator imagines the possibilities of the text she has read, "re-imagining the characters' lives, the objects, the dialogue" (Interview, 23 April 96). Between the versions of the desert story, she creates a fluid dimension of désir, or desire, a "space to swim with the words" (Interview). Brossard has said that "before the idea of the novel had definitely shaped itself," she knew that it would be in a "hot place, where the weather, la température, would be almost unbearable: people would be sweating; the light would be difficult" (Mauve Desert: A CD-ROM Translation). That site became the desert of the American southwest with its beauty and danger, its timelessness and history, and its decadent traces of Western civilization in the litter of old bottles and abandoned, rusting cars. The author imagined the desert through the images and words of books she read about the desert, appropriating the flowers and cacti that excited her through their names, seduced her through language. Maude Laures, the translator within Brossard's novel, finds the desert as a dimension of her reading, too: "a space, a landscape, an enigma entered with each reading" (133). From her first readings of a novel she has discovered in a used bookshop, Laures, confronts the "the issue of control. Who owns the meaning of the black marks on the page, the writer or the reader?" (Godard 115), and decides the book will belong to her, "and that she can do everything because she has fallen in love with the book, and therefore she's taken possession of the book, the author, the characters, the desert" (Interview). The translator is fascinated by Mélanie, the 15-year-old narrator, who drives her mother's car across the desert, and who has been captivated by the voice and beauty of the geometrician, Angela Parkins, imagining dialogues between these two characters as they linger in the motel parking lot. But she is unwilling to imagine words with l'homme long (longman), who composes beautiful equations that cause explosions in the desert, recites Sanskrit poems, and thumbs through porno in his hotel room. Le désert mauve was an attempt by Brossard to translate from French to French, but the descriptions of the desert landscape – the saguaro, senita, ocotillos, and arroyo—show Spanish to be the language of the desert. In her translation, Maude Laures increases the code switching and adds more Spanish phrases to her text, and Japanese, too, to magnify the echo of nuclear destruction that resonates in l'homme long's equations. She also renames the character l'homme oblong (O'blongman) to increase the dimension of danger he represents. Linking the desert through language with nuclear testing gives it a "semantic density," as Nicholis Entrikin calls it, that extends far beyond the geographical location to recognize the events embedded in that space through associative memory. L'homme long is certainly linked through language to J Robert Oppenheimer, the director of the original atomic bomb project in Los Alamos, New Mexico and his reference to the Bhagavad Gita after seeing the effects of the atomic bomb: "I/am/become Death—now we are all sons of bitches" (17). The translator distances herself by a translating Death/I /am/death—I'm a sonofabitch" (173). The desert imagined by Laure Angstelle seduces the reader, Maude Laures, and her translation project creates a trajectory which links the heat and light of the desert with the cold and harsh reflective glare of sunlit snow in wintry Montréal, where the "misleading reflections" of the desert's white light is subject to the translator's gaze. Laures leans into the desert peopled with geometricians and scientists and lesbians living under poisonous clouds of smoke that stop time, and tilts her translation in another direction. In the final chapter of Laure Angstelle's novel, Mélanie had danced in the arms of Angela Parkins, only to find she had run out of time: Angela is shot (perhaps by l'homme long) and falls to the dance floor. Maudes Laures is constrained by the story and by reality, but translates "There was no more time" into "One more time," allowing the lovers' dance to continue for at least another breath, room for another ending. Brossard has asserted that, like lesbian desire or the translator, the desert was located in the background of our thoughts. Ondaatje's novel, The English Patient (1992), locates the translator in the desert, linking a profession and a place which have both witnessed an averting of Western eyes, both used in linguistic and imperial enterprises that operate under conditions of camouflage. Linked also by association is the war in the Sahara and the nuclear bombs dropped on Japan. As in Brossard, the desert here is a destination reached by reading, how "history enters us" through maps and language. Almásy, "the English patient," knew the desert before he had been there, "knew when Alexander had traversed it in an earlier age, for this cause or that greed" (18). Books in code also serve to guide spies and armies across the desert, and like a book, the desert is "crowded with the world" (285), while it is "raped by war and shelled as if it were just sand" (257). Here the translator is representative of a writing that moves between positions and continually questions its place in history. Translators and explorers write themselves out of a text, rendering themselves invisible and erasing traces of their emotions, their doubts, beliefs, and loves, in order to produce a "neutral" text, much in the way that colonialism empties land of human traces in order to claim it, or the way technology is airbrushed out of the desert in order to conceal "the secret of the deserts from Unweinat to Hiroshima" (295). Almásy the translator, the spy, whose identity is always a subject of speculation, knows how the eye can be fooled as it reads a text in disguise; floating on a raft of morphine, he rewrites the monotone of history in different modes, inserting between the terse lines of commentary a counternarrative of love illumined by "the communal book of moonlight" (261), which translates lives and gives them new meaning. The translator's creativity stems from a collaboration and a love for the text; to deny the translation process its creative credibility is synonymous in The English Patient with the denial of any desire that may violate the social rules of the game of love by unfairly demanding fidelity. If seas move away to leave shifting desert sands, why should lovers not drift, or translations? Ultimately, we are all communal translations, says Ondaatje's novel, of the shifting relationship between histories and personal identities. "We are not owned or monogamous in our taste or experience" (261). This representation of the translator resists the view of identity "which attempts to recover an immutable origin, a fixed and eternal representation of itself" (Ashcroft 4) by its insistence that we are transformed in and by our versions of reality, just as we are by our readings of fiction. The translators represented in Brossard and Ondaatje suggest that the process of translation is a creative one, which acknowledges influence, contradictory currents, and choice its heart. The complexity of the choices a translator makes and the mulitiplicity of positions from which she may write suggest a process of translation that is neither transparent nor complete. Rather than the ubiquitous notion of the translator as "a servant an invisible hand mechanically turning the word of one language into another" (Godard 91), the translator creatively 'forges in the smithy of the soul' a version of story that is a complex "working model of inclusive consciousness" (Heaney 8) that seeks to loosen another tongue and another reading in an eccentric literary version of oral storytelling. References Ashcroft, Bill. Post-Colonial Transformation. London and New York: Routledge, 2001. Brossard, Nicole. Le désert mauve. Montréal: l'Hexagone, 1987. Mauve Desert. Trans. Susanne Lotbinière-Harwood. Toronto: Coach House Press, 1990. Brossard, Nicole. Personal Interview. With Beverley Curran and Mitoko Hirabayashi, Montreal, April 1996. Chamberlain, Lori. "Gender and the Metaphorics of Translation." Reinventing Translation. Lawrence Venuti, Ed. 57-73. Godard, Barbara. "Translating (With) the Speculum." Traduction, Terminologie, Rédaction 4 (2) 1991: 85-121. Greenblatt, Stephen. "Racial Memory and Literary History." PMLA 116 (1), January 2001: 48-63. Heaney, Seamus. "The Redress of Poetry." The Redress of Poetry: Oxford Lectures. London, Boston: Faber and Faber, 1995. 1-16. Jenik, Adriene. Mauve Desert: A CD-ROM Translation. Los Angeles: Shifting Horizon Productions, 1997. Ondaatje, Michael. The English Patient. Toronto: Vintage Books, 1993. Stewart, Susan. Crimes of Writing: Problems in the Containment of Representation. New York, Oxford: Oxford UP, 1991. Venuti, Lawrence. The Translator's Invisibility: A History of Translation. London, New York: Routledge, 1995.