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“Bonjour la classe!” - How one good teacher can set up students with lifelong strategies

1/9/2020

 
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Un âne (donkey), the very first French word I learned at age 11

Back to School at last

After months of absence, with parents battling to juggle their own workload with home tutoring and teachers struggling with the difficulties of educating online, schools are finally reopening. This has prompted some reflection on my part as to the importance of what happens in the classroom and how some teachers left an indelible mark on me.

I often review the list of my top five favourite films of all time, occasionally reshuffling and revising the options or adding in a new one, but it will take a truly remarkable production to knock Dead Poet’s Society off its perch among those five.

Something about the camera work that captures the gorgeous scenery as Autumn turns to Winter around the grounds of the boarding school where the action is set; the depth and warmth of the characters; the familiar classroom customs and banter that bring back memories of my own days at the chalkface. It encapsulates the energy of youth and schooldays, the excitement of discovery, the secret dens and clandestine midnight meetings, the heady illusion of limitless possibilities. And of course, there’s Robin Williams’s character, the enthralling, persuasive Mr Keating and the extraordinary hold he has over the boys.

Anyone familiar with the story will know that it doesn’t end well, and finally raises concerns surrounding the power and influence a charismatic individual can have, despite good intentions. It explores the potential harm done by taking too literally a role model who has cast a spell, and whose ideas some may consider romantic and idealistic.

Responsibility for the devastating climax of the film is not laid solely or even primarily with the teacher. We are also encouraged to question the suffocating expectations of family, society and education at the time – yet there is no doubt in my mind that an individual teacher can work magic. Did I have a Mr Keating in my childhood and adolescence? Probably one or two, although they are not commonplace by any means.

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The mesmerising Mr Keating, played by Robin Williams, teaching his English class at Welton Academy in Dead Poet's Society, Touchstone Pictures (1989)

My magical teachers

A certain, rather rigorous, primary school teacher taught us to write good English, communicate effectively and broaden our stockpile of words. I remember him getting us to lie on the ground beneath the trees on the school field one February morning and look up, gaze at the pastel blues and pinks of the winter sky, then go indoors and paint it using fine horizontal brushstrokes, then express the same sight in writing. I owe much to him.

Perhaps surprisingly, the teachers that stand out are those who imposed the tightest discipline. By discipline, obviously I don’t mean the near starvation, thrashing and bullying endured by David Copperfield or Oliver Twist, but an environment with order, structure and clear boundaries that offered clarity and enabled progress. Well, maybe I’m being a little unfair here. After all, in the early 1970s, we didn’t feel any sense of outrage when our secondary school Maths teacher bashed a fellow pupil over the head with a hardback textbook for not doing his homework, which happened on a weekly basis, usually to the same luckless boy. Doing our algebra in total silence, then queuing at her desk to have it marked, was routine, and those of us with the misfortune to be walking behind her when passing through the swing doors, small, defenceless and armless since loaded with bags of books, musical instrument cases and PE kits, could expect to have them slammed in our noses.
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But she was a brilliant teacher. My understanding of Maths, and thereby my results, suffered drastically once we entered the next stage and our set was passed onto her colleague who wasted time talking about Millwall football club, and this was always a mystery to me because he had a Birmingham accent. As cliché as it sounds, there is some truth around the laid back, bearded, ex-hippy Geography teacher stereotype of that era, strumming the guitar in assemblies a little like Dylan from the Magic Roundabout. Teachers who were “in” with the sixth formers, invited us to parties (now unacceptable) or sat lounging and chatting in our common room, were not normally rewarded with favourable results.

I was lucky enough to have the same French teacher for five years, from 11 to 16. An even-tempered, even-handed person who struck the perfect balance between too lenient and too stifling. Always consistent, always cheerful and always reliable. He would walk into the room, raise his arms in the air and call out “Bonjour la classe!”, and rising to our feet, we would reply “Bonjour Monsieur Howarth”, before being told “Asseyez-vous”.

Routine and enthusiasm

His style was unremarkable in its simplicity, but effective. We had 40 minutes a day, 4 days a week, beginning with one dedicated to listening and pronunciation that took place in what was then called the language lab, where we sat in individual booths wearing headphones, repeating what we heard and working through exercises while the teacher would listen in and occasionally interject with encouraging remarks to individual pupils. I can still hear the sound of the introduction playing at the start of the lesson, in a piercing voice, “French: a structural approach, book 1….”. Tuesdays and Wednesdays were given over to grammar and reading comprehension respectively, then every Friday there would be a vocabulary test, in preparation for which we would have to memorise 10 words, along with their definite articles, spellings and English meanings. Grammar was introduced in hierarchical fashion, starting with adjectives, the present tense verbs, often drilled into the mind by chanting.

Over the next few years, we assimilated other verb tenses and grammatical features in order of difficulty. Homework normally involved written composition, of increasing length and difficulty, and although this scrupulously didactic routine and echoing might be regarded by some as outdated and dull, it worked. His own steadfast, unfaltering enthusiasm also taught me to push through and stick to the plan on those days where energy is low and motivation is difficult, and to always remember that you are often making progress when you don’t think you are, and that a better day lies ahead. By the time we were at the end of the fifth form, equivalent to year 11, we were all over-prepared for the exams. And now, in the same way as I know without thinking that nine eights are seventy-two because my times tables were drummed into me by repetition, the conjugations of many verbs ring in my ears, so that I don’t have to search too far among my mental shelving when I need them. He used to tell us that knowledge of a language was like a snowball: the larger it gets, the greater the surface area on which to stick on additional material while rolling it along the ground.

My lifelong fascination for foreign languages began with this particular teacher. Another of his legacies was to jump in and have a go. I always feel compelled to make some effort, however modest, to memorise the very basics when I visit a country whose language I do not speak or understand. And thanks to the preparation I was given by my own school French teacher, I was able to help out during numerous French exchange visits and year 12 work experience placement trips in Marseille and Toulouse organised by schools where I taught, despite being a science teacher.

Learning strategies

What I learned from the best of my teachers was the importance of structure, of building from the simple to the complex, from bottom to top. There are certain strategies that have stayed with me for life. When faced with any new challenge, I take the same systematic approach I was introduced to at school: break the work into pieces, begin with what is easiest, divide up the available time appropriately, dedicate different sessions to different tasks. It would be too methodical and plodding for some, but it works for me. When many years later I started to learn Italian, I already had the framework, or reference points, on which to build. I like to think of these as coat hangers: props on which to attach knowledge in rows and layers. I knew how to build the grammar and the vocabulary piece by piece, and that it was important to carve up my time between the skills of speaking, listening, reading and writing. I have my teachers to thank for that. It seems like common sense, but a more random, haphazard approach would not have worked for me.

We all have different learning styles, and authorities on educational theory will tell us that there is no one-size-fits-all approach to teaching and acquiring knowledge. But my message here is that a few well-chosen methods on the part of a teacher can equip pupils with coping mechanisms they will remember for the rest of their days. To Mr Holmes, Mrs Willis and Mr Howarth, thank you.

Long work assignments, long walks, and long waits: What I learned from the lockdown and how it affected my job

19/8/2020

 
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Wild rabbits seen while taking the time to look out of the window and enjoy nature


There is a widening of the eyes and a gasp of indignation on my behalf when, on being asked how my work has been going during these eccentric and surreal times, I reply that I’ve received requests to work at half price and experienced huge delays in payments. As if this were somehow more shocking that the loss of employment, loss of home or loss of sanity due to isolation that many others have endured.

The importance of communication
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But this is not the forum to share my views about the pandemic, the lockdown, the effects on health, the economy and the education system. I am simply reporting on what the past few months have been like for someone like me: a freelance translator used to working from home and sharing a home with others less used to working at home or away from their colleagues, and what this has shown me. The truth is that I do not mind the underpayments, late payments, excuses for partial payments as much as might be expected. It merely reinforces what I have always believed: that communication is one of the most important attributes of the workplace. I work with and for some diligent and dependable people who took pains to explain their situation to me, and when people are prepared to be honest about their difficulties it becomes much easier to understand and tolerate. Companies are experiencing supply chain and cashflow problems; individuals are suffering loneliness, a kind of incarceration and anxiety. Staff who work in company accounts departments are not necessarily present in the office to process invoices and payments. We all have to be a little flexible and patient.

Once the predictable January slow period, when it always takes the industry some time to warm up after the New Year, was over, I had plenty to do. To summarise without going into more detail than non-disclosure agreements will allow, I translated sections of a book on which a clown duo wished to base some sketches they were developing, some never-ending rare disease-management protocols written by the French National Health Authority, and (the most challenging project I’ve completed so far), a series of comments written by one Ancient Greek philosopher in the 6th century A.D., commenting on the theories of other Ancient Greek philosophers writing a few centuries B.C., on the squaring of the circle, the being and the non-being, the magnitude and the multitude. These diverse projects constituted welcome distractions from the reality of not seeing friends, holidays cancelled and not having my usual September music festival to look forward to.

A more structured day

It was all engaging but laborious work that required focus and a certain amount of resolve. The philosophy was particularly difficult due to the primeval, convoluted writing style and the endless sentences. When faced with a long project, my approach is always the same. I divide up the word total by the number of available working days and calculate the percentage of the document, or of the series of documents, I must complete by the end of each day to meet the agreed deadline, making an entry into my diary to give myself a concrete target. Sometimes this means working without breaks, grabbing something quick and indigestible for “lunch” without really stopping, and pushing on until the designated percentage for that day appears in the bottom right of my screen. But I began the lockdown period living with 4 other family members, all accustomed to working in an office environment, face-to-face with colleagues, and with a much more structured day. I have to say that this has now changed the way I operate.

Like much of the population, I found enormous comfort in nature, and our almost daily late-afternoon walks into the countryside virtually on our doorstep that I never knew existed, which all or some of us would undertake, was a wonderful chance to unwind after several hours of staring at a screen. This meant taking the crucial step of setting and sticking to a finishing time instead of lurching onwards towards a specific work volume before logging off. Living in a small family unit meant regular mealtimes, actually taking a break for lunch and sitting outside, not working in the evenings; unexpectedly, I became a little more creative when it was my turn to cook. And although I rarely managed to take a Sunday off, our Sundays normally began with a long run along a local disused railway line. Perhaps emboldened by the temporary reduction in traffic, the deer, occasional badger or, after nightfall, fox we spotted on our walks, or the curious rat or family of young rabbits that hopped around the garden, offered a heart-warming spectacle (see photo above).

Relaxation…. and ergonomics

At first I thought I’d panic at the prospect of not fitting the requisite volume of work into my day, but I realised that it actually helped to have some landmarks. As a former teacher I am used to a bell schedule, a strictly defined day structure. Yet since working from home, usually alone, I have lapsed into a nose-to-the-screen, fingers-to-the-keyboard, sprint-to-the-finish style that can’t possibly be effective. The regular breaks, the more nutritious meals, and the limited working hours actually improved my concentration and output. I found that I got more done if I knew I had to finish by 4.30pm to go for a walk in the woods. The relaxation cleared the mind. Moreover, those around me who were less used to working in the house also drew my awareness to a matter I had altogether overlooked: the question of ergonomics.

Since some of the projects I translate are concerned with manufacturing, I have translated a number of policy documents on health and safety at work, yet I had never thought to consider this in relation to myself. Such documents tend to focus on limiting the number of hours in front of a computer screen, ensuring good light while not sitting facing direct sunlight, having the desk surface and keyboard at a suitable height and, possibly the most important, protecting against lower back problems by using a suitable chair. None of this had ever crossed my mind. Due to network variability I tend to move around the house and work in different places on different days, so I don’t tend to stick to the same chair or table. It was only when one of my family members started wearing blue light filtering glasses and another, seated at an upstairs desk on a piece of furniture hardly more serviceable than a deckchair, complained of developing back problems within 20 minutes, that I began to think. This prompted me to purchase a more comfortable swivel-chair, with adjustable height and padded support for the lumbar region, and a much larger monitor, making small-font text much less of a chore.

This raises a question. With so many people working at home now, how have others managed to find a comfortable, peaceful area to work in, free of noise and distraction, with the correct office equipment? Not everyone has their own photocopier, or even printer, and I suspect that many are constrained to work on tiny laptops or tablets. This lockdown, and those I have kept company with, have taught me how to improve efficiency and productivity essentially by taking better care of myself. There is a world outside my computer, and it doesn’t do any harm to glance up and gaze out of the window sometimes. I am much more fortunate than many.
 

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Unpredictability and exasperation: the dispiriting snare of 60-day payment terms

18/11/2019

 
Imagine this: I arrive at the railway station, knowing I have less than 2 minutes to queue up in front of the glass screen, obtain the required ticket, then leg it over the bridge to reach platform 3 on the far side of the track in time to catch the 8.11 to Marylebone. I grab my one-day travel card and set off, explaining hurriedly that, since the client I am scheduled to meet is unlikely to transfer money in settlement of the services to be provided into my account for some time, I will pay for my ticket, purchased in mid November, sometime within the first few days of February, but without specifying an exact time and date.

Sound ridiculous???

Of course it does. I would never do that, and I think, hope, that very few others would either. Not only would I have railway staff chasing me along the platform demanding immediate compensation, I might even find myself confronted by the police. Most people now book tickets online on their phone and pay before stepping onto the train, but even if that were not the case, I would feel uncomfortable with the idea of delaying any payment. I even feel uncomfortable when the garage mechanic repairs a faulty exhaust but I can’t pay straight away because their invoice isn’t ready.

Yet this is precisely what I and countless other sole traders or small businesses are faced with month after month. For example, if I start working on a translation project on, say, 1 December 2019, irrespective of how long it takes to complete, I will invoice this work right at the end of the month, which is the usual practice in the language services industry. Each company has its own invoicing policy, which essentially means that each invoice I send must be adapted to the specific requirements of the accounts departments of individual companies: for example, all require different information relating to the bank into which the payment is to be made; some expect invoices to be uploaded onto a dedicated portal; some require “proof” (can you believe it?) of completion of the work in the form of a copy of the PO or visual evidence verifying fulfilment of expectations (for which they have already confirmed receipt); some have particular preferences regarding colour and font. It seems preposterous that someone who has already received goods and services is dictating the terms under which they are prepared to pay. To continue, once compiled according to these specific demands, this hypothetical invoice will be sent between 28 and 31 December 2019, with a “payment due” date, based on the 60-day payment terms imposed by what appears to be an increasing number of companies, of 28 February 2020. So, as unreasonable as it sounds in view of the fact that the work was done and duly delivered in the first few days of the month, can I then expect the payment to reach my bank account by 28 February 2020?

Absolutely not.

Some accounts departments will then insist on a further few days of waiting while the “payment is processed”. I will be lucky to receive the outstanding payment before 10 March. I wish this were an exaggeration, but sadly this is not the case. As if 60-day payment terms were not bad enough, the reality is much starker. The period of time between work I do tomorrow and the payment landing in my bank account can actually become more like 98 days. This is more than one quarter of a year. How is this even remotely acceptable?

As one contributor to the Ghostblogwriters.com site comments:
“Sometimes, 60+ days is totally fine. But as you’ve probably seen, it’s not the 60-day terms that is frustrating. It’s when 60 days turns into 70, 80 and even 100+ days.” This site also offers some useful tips, for example on sending reminders, and including the contact person in the accounts department in all communications.
 
Five years ago, when I first started working as a free-lance translator at the very base of what proved to be a precipitous learning curve, I sought advice on the subject of invoicing from a small business owner. Not all he said was relevant to me. For one thing, he was working in the construction industry and, for the most part, operating within a twenty-mile radius. Much of my work comes from the continent. However, one thing he said stuck in my mind: “the little guy does what the big guy says”. Naive as I was then, I accepted this as normal. And to my mind, herein lies the problem: an unacceptable situation becomes so commonplace that it becomes routine. Or worse, we are persuaded that because it is standard practice and legal, we sleepwalk into what is clearly morally outrageous in the mistaken belief that it is somehow tolerable.

I have even tried to rationalise this situation by reminding myself that there is a chain of beneficiaries and an end client, and that companies must await payment themselves before paying service providers. Seriously? Who am I trying to kid? That is like me refusing to pay for computer repairs (my service provider) until I am paid by those who owe me money for that month (my end client). And this doesn’t even take into consideration the fact that companies with 60-day payment terms tend to be the larger fish in the pond and are more than capable of settling up earlier. Another rationale I often hear concerns the length of time it takes to process payments: documents need to be signed off, paperwork waiting in the in-tray of the person responsible etc. Again, this is a weak argument. I recently grew tired of one particular company who were repeatedly late with payments, and finally announced that I was no longer able to collaborate. Surprisingly, the outstanding amounts appeared in my account with no further hesitation. Interesting. Let’s be honest, if companies can’t pay up within 30 days, they shouldn’t be seeking services in the first place. After all, you don’t buy what you can’t afford.

There is also a palpable inequality here. I have always been meticulous in observing deadlines, knowing that a late delivery could have consequences for a number of people, and have never been late in delivering a completed, thoroughly checked piece of work. If I had, I would have been under relentless pressure to get the work done, and potentially faced with the possibility of reduced payment or refusal to pay. The double-standard here does not need pointing out.
 
I’m not alone. In an article entitled “Late Payment” on the FSB Experts in Business site, I read that “Small businesses are owed on average £6,142 mostly by larger firms not paying them for goods and services on time” and also that “37% (of) small businesses have run into cash flow difficulties, with 30%... forced to use an overdraft”. The writer then expands on some details associated with being the victim of late payments: being bullied into reducing an already agreed price, for example. This latter problem is particularly sinister since, if some clients are offering earlier settlement if the provider is prepared to accept less, there is the possibility of exploitation and manipulation of those in serious need of funds.
 
https://www.fsb.org.uk/standing-up-for-you/policy-issues/finance-and-the-economy/late-payment
 
I use the word “snare” in my title, because the 60-day payment terms (and some companies insist on 90 days) can function as a way of trapping providers. Once someone owes you money, staying on the right side of them by continuing the collaboration can seem inevitable, a little like a donkey and carrot scenario. This, again, has become so much the norm that it is (wrongly) considered acceptable.
 
As far back as Nov 2018, Rachell Astall made the alarming observation on the gocardless.com site that 41% of small business owners were finding “late payments more concerning than Brexit”, with 89% reporting becoming “stressed and anxious” due to “uncertainty around when payments will come in”. Consequences of this, she writes, include inability to grow the business, staffing problems and even sacrificing salary or holidays.
 
No matter how carefully someone in my position manages their monthly budget, there is a certain amount of unpredictability in the world of a freelancer. I never know how much work I will receive during any particular week, let alone month, and with different clients having different payment terms, budgeting monthly incomings and outgoings (bills) is challenging and highly variable.
There is, of course, the question of what is actually legal. According to EU law (we are still just about in the EU at the time of writing), this issue is regulated by the Late Payments Directive 2011/7/EU, which states that “the payment period for businesses must not exceed 60 days from the date of safe invoice receipt”. This law appears to allow for some flexibility if such flexibility is agreed between the client and contractor but is clearly open to abuse. Most freelance translators are not in a position to take legal action, partly because they are so frantically occupied in completing the next project. So larger companies can easily get away with loose interpretation of the legislation:

"It should therefore remain possible for the parties to expressly agree on payment periods longer than 60 calendar days, provided, however, that such extension is not grossly unfair to the creditor." (Article 13 of the Preamble of the Late Payments Directive)

Two further points should be made here: the first is that a small number of organisations will not accept invoices until the total amount owed exceeds a specific threshold, usually around 40 euros. This means that it can take several months to accumulate the desired amount, months that are usually being spent working on other projects. In my earlier analogy, this is like me getting off the train at Beaconsfield instead of proceeding to Marylebone, then claiming that until I have clocked up enough journeys to total an arbitrary amount it is not worth the time it would take to pull my wallet out of my pocket and pay. Secondly, since some firms do not accept invoices until they issue an invitation to invoice, which is often beyond the end of the month in question, the number of days is only counted from the date of receipt of the invoice, a date that is not under the supplier’s control.
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Some companies will glibly inform you that 60-day payment terms are “normal” and “standard practice”. However, unless you have good reason for accommodating this: you are invested in that particular type of work, you trust and respect your contact person/project managers, you can budget effectively and accordingly, my suggestion would be to refuse. When approached by the company, set out some clear terms and conditions, stick to them firmly and don’t assume that you are always in a position of weakness. Yes, there are other service providers in competition with you, but there are also other agencies/clients who require your services. And if you agree to be thorough, reliable and deliver/complete on time, with good communication and willingness to go that extra mile, for example by helping out when PMs need something in a hurry or just need the odd question answering, they will recognise the value of working with you and it is then up to them to take or leave your terms. No one wants the apprehension that comes with constantly having to check a bank account to find out whether that missing payment has finally arrived. Our time is better spent on the work we enjoy and joined the industry to do.

Reading books translated from other languages: what’s stopping us English-speakers?

20/5/2019

 
A few months ago, while languidly browsing the second-hand book tent at the west country festival I attend every late summer and start look forward to as soon as the line-up is published in late January, I happened to overhear a conversation between a couple close by, who had picked up a copy of something whose title I couldn’t quite see. “Nah. You don’t wanna read that,” came the comment that sticks in my mind, “it’s a translation, remember. It’s bound to be awful”.  “Hmm.” said her partner, carefully replacing the book onto one of the neat piles arranged, alphabetically by author, on the tables around the room. I inhaled sharply, ready to provide an uninvited retort, but thought better of it. An opinion is an opinion, after all.

It wasn’t just that this was a carefully selected and collected, lovingly protected assortment of pre-owned but still in good condition books, whose seller was standing patiently in the corner while visitors, passers-by or half-in-and-half-out people read, handled and viewed with varying intentions to buy. Or the fact that this particular book was probably, as with everything else in the fiction corner of this large yurt, a classic, a prize-winner, or a celebrated piece of literature. My indignation came from knowing how laborious and tricky book translation can be. I have translated very few books and my work is almost entirely associated with factual documents. But I admire book translators enormously, especially fiction translators, and would like to say a few words in their defence.

The difficulties facing book translators are numerous, but the one that interests me the most is to do with the communication of author’s intended meaning in another language, especially when the writer is writing about events that took place in a time and a place that perhaps can never quite be captured and appreciated by those who never lived through those experiences. OK. That also applies to reading a book written in our mother tongue but set in another English – speaking country in another historical setting. Maybe. But there are additional difficulties when dragging a text, sentence by sentence, even phrase by phrase, into a new language, which makes me think of winding damp laundry through an old-fashioned mangle. You can pull it through, but something can be lost. It’s the voice, the subtle inflection, the way that an attentive reader can almost hear which syllables the speaker is emphasising when reading a text in their own language, but which a translator might struggle to re-create when armed with a very different toolbox in another.

Of course, there are skilful translators who obviously succeed. I refer to one or two such people, along with the respective authors and books, in my blog for February 2017, but I do not feel that the difficulty in doing so is widely appreciated. As mentioned in that blog, a word-for-word exchange simply won’t work. Languages vary in their sentence organisation for one thing. I have just finished reading the 2018 Man Booker Prize winner “Milkman”, written by Anna Burns and published by Faber and Faber, through which the author paints a vivid, brutal and shockingly enlightening picture of life in Northern Ireland at the time of the struggles. I have no doubt that this book will be translated into other languages, although I can find no current evidence of this, but I can imagine the obstacles such linguists will have to overcome. When studying and training to become a translator, we are told that it is essential to write good, grammatically correct English, to be succinct, to attempt to avoid repetition, and to be specific. On the face of it, this unique, brilliantly-written book does none of these things. Told from the point of view of a teenage girl experiencing unthinkable difficulties, the language is repetitive, the sentences necessarily long-winded and the word order, which challenges preconceptions about “correct” structure, is jumbled and unexpected. Punctuation is unusually placed or absent where it might be anticipated. This is a girl trying to express and reflect upon her thoughts in a way that is in one sense garbled but at the same time gives these thoughts remarkable clarity. My empathy as a reader awoken, I found I could follow her line of reasoning clearly. So much for grammatical rules.

Temporal and spatial reference points in this book are limited. Neither the town in which the story is set or any of the characters are ever named. People are described as “third brother-in-law”, “eighth woman” or “Somebody McSomebody”. Places are described as “over the water”, “over the border” or “over the road” This makes it difficult to achieve concision and added to this is the breaking off of the narrative to provide backstory and context. This, while helpful, can go on for pages. Succinctness is not part of the plan. Moreover, the author has created some of her own terms.

“They said it was the media’s fault, and indeed the media had espied the issue women via their placards in amongst the traditional women carrying their own placards. And even though there were only seven of these issue women compared to the few hundred of traditional women, all the world’s cameras instantly focused upon them.“

Often points are hammered home through the use of multiple adjectives to describe the same action or emotion, or countless anecdotes and examples are provided to illustrate the point.
My argument is that, yes, this can be translated into another language, but in the target language, with its own set of (different) grammatical rules, the translator will have their work cut out to generate a text that represents the author’s intended message, but also "breaks" the generally accepted grammar rules in the new language in order to create the desired register and intonation: that of a victimised girl with astute observation of the world around her, who is trying to make her reader grasp what she is saying by labouring each point. Furthermore, with no understanding of past troubles in the character’s location, the impact of the phrase “that country over the water” will inevitably be dulled.

Another quagmire that book translators can wade into is the feeling of treading on eggshells when working with an author who, understandably, is proud of their achievement and sensitive about how the material in their book is treated and re-created in a language they may or may not have mastered themselves. Good communication throughout the process is essential, and rather than present the translation as a fait accompli on completion of the target language version, piecemeal translation of each chapter can help to avoid embarrassing disagreements. Authors can be easily put out if they feel that their work is not being processed as they had imagined. Nor do they always realise that the source and target languages simply have a different rule book. This is especially true of punctuation. One author I worked with read the draft version of my translation of his book and could not understand why I made extensive use of commas in some places. Whereas Italian sentences can often ripple on extensively with no punctuation, ending on the key words of the sentence and its final full stop, commas are used more frequently in English. I was obliged to send him a photocopy of a page from Lewis Carroll, to show him that the English language simply does not do so much of this punctuation-free writing, unless used as a stylistic device.
Take the sentence:

“ Durante la guerra mangiavamo di solito nella cucina sopratutto quando veniva la nonna da pranzo,  spesso faceva male la testa percio non voleva prendere il sole.”

Whilst it is conceivable that the writer might put a comma after the “cucina”, the Italian sentence will work quite well without. Consider the same sentence in English:

“During the war we usually ate in the kitchen, especially when grandmother came to lunch. She often had headaches, so she didn’t want to be out in the sun.”
Not only do we need at least one comma in the English, the sentence would also be clumsy without the full stop and new sentence after “lunch”. In Italian, a comma is often used to separate two ideas, where we would use a full stop.
 
Perhaps the biggest handicap for those involved in book translation is that, generally, translations don’t sell. Unless you’re working for a well-known, widely-acclaimed writer, and few translators are, it is highly likely that your translations will sit in obscurity for years, or forever. When I first set out in this industry, I translated several books in the space of two or three years, before my work on pharmaceutical and agricultural projects became so all-consuming. Sadly, only one of these has sold copies. The royalties I receive from this every two or three months have gradually accumulated into what amounts to a reasonable income for the work involved in that translation, although I regard this as a welcome surprise rather than an expectation. As for the others, which I felt were well-written by authors who had carried out extensive research, and whose work was based on sound experience and knowledge, or imagination in the case of novels, there has been little or no response, even though my translations received good feedback from the writers concerned. The problem is that very often neither the author or translator is doing any marketing. The book may have sold successfully in its original language, but unless someone is actively promoting it, it will not be bought because no one knows it is there. As I wrote in my blog two years ago, only a very small percentage of books sold in the English language have been translated from another. Until we have some international focus on this issue and a united, well-thought-out effort to overcome the problems, this is unlikely to change.
 
In spite of all this, some of my own favourite books are translations. I have already described my reactions to the Cemetery of Forgotten Books series of Carlos Luiz Zafon, whose wonderfully flowing prose is translated from the Spanish my Lucia Graves and in which both writer and translator give an outstanding performance. Unable to wait for the paperback version of the latest, “The Labyrinth of the Spirits”, to reach the shops, I have the hardback waiting on my bedside table, and I look forward with genuine relish to immersing myself in that world from tonight.

"I hope this email finds you well": The welcome, ghostly presence of the virtual colleague

15/12/2018

 
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I’ve never met you, I’ve never seen you, and it’s highly unlikely that I ever will. Often, we’re not even in the same time zone. We talk on the phone now and again, sometimes Skype, but we pretty much communicate almost entirely by exchanging email messages. I’ve created a fuzzy, variable mental image of your face, mainly because it helps to “know” who I am talking or writing to; it’s a kind of composite picture synthesised from the various things you’ve said. You seem considerate, respectful, courteous, patient. You show flexibility and adaptability, and it’s clear to me that you work very hard. Sometimes you tell me what you’re doing that evening, and it’s fun to read this. Sometimes you tell me when you’re going on holiday, and I feel pleased for you because I know you need a break. You offered kind, comforting words and understanding when my mother died last month and I needed to cancel, curtail or postpone the completion of ongoing projects to organise the funeral. In fact it's a testament to the mutual trust we have built up that you were able to show such understanding. I don’t mind you contacting me in that high-anxiety, tight, frantic period between 5 and 7pm on a Friday evening, when something unexpected has come up and you are trying to find someone to work over the weekend on a document that has loomed out of nowhere.
Translation can be an isolating, consuming  kind of work. It requires intense, eye-to-brain-and-back-again focus, relentless concentration, and long projects that span weeks can sometimes feel like confinement, as though the computer is a cell and the mind in lockdown, hovering between the keyboard and a virtual focal point somewhere on the other side of the screen. Concentration is essential, mistakes or missed deadlines unacceptable. Not that I’m complaining. The work is absorbing and offers a satisfaction that must be akin to the reward felt on solving a crossword or Sudoku puzzle.
Of course, consultation is always possible. I have an in-house colleague whose input is invaluable when I need to run a specific choice of word, expression or phrase past her. But much of the time I’m alone. And it makes no difference whether I work in my office, with the view of the horses, kites and squirrels through the window to provide inspiration, or whether I try out a change of scene in a local café or pub. It’s possible to be in a room full of people and still be in the shadowy seclusion that is essential for full commitment to the work. No time to chat, except to order the Americano that lasts all morning and, partially  drunk, goes cold because I don’t want to break my line of thought and remove my eyes from that mesmerising double column before me. The random messages from you, which slide swiftly, silently into the bottom right-hand corner of my screen, make me feel less alone, and raise a smile even when they obscure my view.
Not everyone shares my view. Working with a virtual partner or in a virtual team can present challenges: the inability to communicate in person may, without the visual cues provided by face-to-face contact, lead to jumping to conclusions, or misinterpretation of messages; some find it difficult to build the trust that might have arisen from social interaction; collaboration with someone around the globe can mean interaction at awkward times of the day or night, or delayed responses to emails containing questions.
I sympathise with these reservations, but there are ways to avoid these pitfalls. In an article entitled “Working in a Virtual Team” published on the MindTools website, in which some of the above concerns are voiced, the author offers a tip to  help prevent misunderstandings. The use of emoticons, which some may associate with frivolous, teenage text banter, can forestall any offence that could be taken. Having experienced this, I have to agree. What might read like a reproach can assume a lighter touch if rounded off with a smile or a wink. The message is transformed into something that reads more like a friendly suggestion. Whatever your opinion, I’ve found that the best way to avoid misunderstanding is to take the time to write in full, without taking shortcuts. Be honest and explain in detail. This is usually met with a favourable response.
As mentioned in previous blogs, the translation industry has its ebb and flow. The warp speed hyper-intensity of September, October and November is now behind us, and if previous years are anything to go by, the next ambush will hit us in the last few days of January and continue until Easter. And so, with these thoughts in mind, I would like to thank all my virtual colleagues for a hectic but rewarding year and wish you a wonderful Christmas and a well-deserved rest.

Euronews: a fresh perspective and a helpful professional development tool

24/9/2018

 
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(Police vehicles parked outside the Trieste seafront hotel where Macron was to meet Angela Merkel and Paolo Gentiloni before attending the Western Balkans Summit of July 2017)


A few months ago, I happened to overhear a rather stilted but amicable dialogue in a coffee shop between a woman who, it transpired, had purchased property in Italy, and her native-speaking instructor who was being paid to hold twice-weekly conversations to help her improve her spoken Italian. The exchange was somewhat one-sided, in that the student was doing most of the talking and her listener was mostly nodding and murmuring agreement or empathy. I remember thinking that this was a cosy, fruitful way to learn or develop competence in a foreign language, particularly speaking and listening skills, provided that your tutor is willing to correct and interrupt as necessary, and provided you have the time to commit.
As a UK-based written translator of scientific material, for the most part associated with the pharmaceutical and agricultural sectors, I don't get the opportunity to speak and listen in my source languages as often as I would like. My work is still fascinating and rewarding and it presents new challenges and obstacles, but tends to throw up largely similar vocabulary from one document to the next and I have steadily grown an ever-thickening, insulating comfort zone. Sadly, my visits to the two countries in which my source languages are spoken, although invaluable, are all too infrequent and I have very little opportunity for day-to-day conversation. So how then is it possible to overcome this sense of losing contact with languages learned but not often practised verbally?
I was first introduced to Euronews by one of my course tutors while undertaking my translation training. She insisted that it offered an effective way to improve both reading and listening skills, and she was right. While studying I found that by far the most difficult text to translate was the content-loaded, jargon-rich, brusque and truncated journalistic style of news articles, often assuming a knowledge of politician sobriquets or for-those-in-the-know abbreviations and euphemisms. (I hadn’t realised, for example, that the word l’hexagone was often used by reporters to refer to the country of France.) Therefore, for me, the most useful aspect of Euronews, established by the European Broadcasting Union in 1993, is that it often provides a written and rapidly spoken version of the article, enabling me to read and listen at the same time.
Euronews has a slightly misleading name – it delivers stories on events worldwide – but it relates to its original objective of presenting news from a European perspective, and the majority of the thirteen available language options are European. There are live-streams of top stories, with videos and photographs of events and commentary, and often a written account of what you are hearing which, while not an exact transcript, closely summarises the discourse. You can quickly read and listen to headlines to catch the main thrust, then you are encouraged to click on further links to explore the issue or related issues in more detail.
An interesting dimension to this for me is the alternative perspective on UK events. Euronews contributors offer an external viewpoint, with less of the hype that emits from UK-based media coverage, particularly from partisan sources. Moreover, with so much upheaval and uncertainty in our own country, it is refreshing to read that life goes on elsewhere and there are developments that do not impact Britain much at all. Earlier in September, for example, I read that European Commission president Jean-Claude Juncker, in delivering his 11-point State of the Union speech, made only a fleeting reference to the UK and our imminent departure from the EU, instead focussing on trade, currency, Africa, foreign policy and immigration. This may come as a surprise to those of us who might think Brexit is dominating European thinking.
One rather odd, almost comical feature of Euronews – which has thankfully now disappeared – was the bizarre way in which readers or listeners were formerly invited to provide feedback. Alongside the article on the screen were two quite sizeable circles, one labelled “Good news” and the other “Bad news”. This often raised a dilemma: did it have to be one or the other? I remember a couple of years ago, when I first started using the app, that a group of migrants adrift on the Mediterranean were being temporarily sheltered in a sports complex on a Greek island. Good news that they were safe. Bad news that they were forced to flee their homeland in the first place and their future was uncertain. Not straight-forward, and until making a choice by clicking on the chosen circle, you never knew whether or not you stood with the majority.
That aside, Euronews is a great way for me to capitalise on marginal time in between projects, invoicing, software updates and emails. It serves the dual purpose of keeping me up-to-date on current affairs and providing real language practice in current topics. Making the effort to read and listen in the language you wish to learn is well worth the effort.


Does anyone else struggle with non-selectable PDFs? Here are some suggestions for translators

17/7/2018

 
 Last year I posted a description of my personal horror of acronyms and the problems they can present for the translator. I have since come to recognise that an even greater nemesis looms in my inbox from time to time, in the form of the non-selectable PDF file. I have no wish to sound negative – I enjoy my work very much – but I do have some suggestions for anyone who finds themselves in a similar situation.

The reasons for companies choosing to create PDFs are perfectly understandable. PDFs protect the document content: unlike Word documents, PDFs cannot be altered or tampered with, and can usually be viewed on any device, irrespective of operating system or installed software. Converting a document into a PDF file is simple and quick to do, whether the original is a Word, Excel or PowerPoint document. The resulting PDF can then be locked, so that the writer or person managing or processing the data has control over who can access or edit it. Furthermore, if a document contains stamps, seals or signatures, as often happens in a legal contract or attestation, for example, these must be handwritten or imprinted onto paper, which will then need to be scanned to a PDF if it is to be shared. PDF stands for “Portable Format Document” and was invented by Adobe. To many, it is a clever and useful device to ensure security, safe sharing of information and effective communication. To a translator though, it can be a headache.

While it’s true that some PDF files will go into CAT tools (computer assisted translation tools), they don’t always go in without protest. Letters or whole sentences can turn into symbols or squiggles, making it look as though part of the text has been encrypted. This can occur both when the file is uploaded into the software or when it is exported into Word as a target document. Often, the PDF is non-editable, or there are sections that are non-editable, which usually have to be treated separately. Faxes, screenshots and scanned images will always be non-editable. There are obviously conversion apps, and I’ve mentioned some of these below, but the process is rarely completely accurate, and the original layout can be distorted or lost on the page. If the original document is not good quality this can create additional problems. Scanned pages can contain unclear, illegible or damaged text, or a fuzzy appearance on the background that translation software may mistake for characters. Logos and seals can also be problematic.

Just to be clear, CAT tools do not do the job of translation for us, but they do segment the text, making it much easier to find one’s place in a document. They make it possible to save a file in its native format, or very close to it. Of course, the translation can simply be typed out without software as it had to be done in the past, and this is probably still the safest way to retain the original page layout as much as possible and avoid losing content. But this is a time-consuming, tedious and demanding task for translators faced with tens of thousands of words on a regular basis, particularly if a file includes diagrams, graphs, charts and tables. Some items, for example stamps or other images that contain diagonal, criss-crossing or over-written text, are simply not reproducible.

There’s a wide range of readily-available PDF to Word (or PDF to another file-type) conversion apps; some are better than others. These work by optical character recognition (OCR) software, which can access the text and make it editable. Some are free, some are reasonable and some expensive, and the choice will depend on exactly what features are required. Some work on a trial basis, with the option to purchase once the trial has expired. Most claim to preserve the original format, with no loss of quality of the text, but this depends on how close the target file needs to be. Some also ask to make changes to your computer. Clearly, the details of this need to be fully understood before you take such a step. I looked into a few PDF to Word conversion apps.

The app eXpert PDF 12 both creates PDFs from Word, Excel or PowerPoint and converts PDFs into Word files. It can be downloaded free, for a trial period, and purchased for £59.99, although it seems to go up to £64.98 when you add on the VAT. Customer reviews are generally favourable, claiming that it’s quick to download and easy to install, with a good display.

Nitro Pro has a two-week trial, with the option to buy for £168 after that. This price includes customer support and product updates. The terms and conditions state that it’s also possible to purchase a subscription, but I wasn’t able to find out whether the above price was a one-off payment or whether regular payments were necessary after a set period. I couldn’t find customer reviews on the website, but PC World seem to think it’s leading the market.

Faced with a lengthy PDF document, which included extensive lists of names of medicinal products and tables with numbered headings and numbered points in columns which I had to be confident in reproducing, I recently resorted to onlineocr.net, at no cost, to convert the document into a Word file. I just needed to log in and provide a few basic details, upload my PDF, and then wait a short time to get my Word document back. I was able to try out a one-page conversion as a trial, then register to convert multiple pages. The quality was generally good. All the text was clear and legible, and the format was surprisingly well-preserved. Some characters, particularly numbers, were shown in bold when they shouldn’t have been, and vice versa, and there seemed to be a mixture of font styles and sizes in places, but it was better than I expected.

Still, the fear of losing content and/or format means that, for the most part, I avoid doing this, preferring to simply type out a non-selectable document onto a clean Word file, in the pre-technology way. So how best to handle a request to work on a difficult document? Here are my thoughts:
·         Politely ask if the customer has a copy of the original Word file. This way the problem can be avoided altogether.
·         If this isn’t possible, ask what the translation is needed for. If, for example, the target document is a PowerPoint to be used as a presentation for training purposes, then the format will be a crucial aspect of the service. However, if the client simply needs to understand what the text says, then you needn’t spend time making the page appear like the original.
·         If you do need to convert PDF to Word, don’t settle for the first app you find. Try out a few and find the most appropriate to your document.
·         In the event that you are faced with a complex document and attempts at Word conversion prove to make matters worse and you end up beginning with a clean sheet, be honest about these challenges. Making it clear to the customer how long it’s likely to take and that it will cost more than a Word document, may take the pressure off and avoid embarrassing confrontations later.

It seems that, despite the ever-advancing sophistication of technology, with better and better CAT tools, conversion apps and even programs able to convert music scores into braille, this is an area that lags behind. I have no doubt that the means of creating programs that can scan the most detailed images and turn them into text, thus surmounting this problem, will be invented very soon. Until then, I will continue to avoid non-selectable PDFs as often as I can get away with.
 
 
 
 
it.

Variable workloads – coping with the ups and downs

19/6/2018

 
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My blog of March 2017, headed by a roller coaster photograph, was intended to illustrate the up-and-down nature of the workload experienced by many people working on a self-employed basis who, like me, are faced with huge variations in the length, content and number of projects to be tackled each month. I have since come to regard the stages of my working year as more closely resembling two or three turns of another fairground attraction: the big wheel, and the picture above was taken while walking past Luna park on the famous Coney Island boardwalk in Brooklyn, NY.
Although this was a fascinating holiday in a wonderful city I’m determined to revisit, it was probably not taken at the most convenient time of year, for reasons explained below.

A few years into this now not-so-new line of work, I have a much clearer view of the rise and fall in demand. There’s still a degree of uncertainty, but it’s more predictable. I’ll describe my observations in calendar order.

For me, Januarys have been quiet, really quiet. Perhaps it takes a while for the companies and businesses who generate documents to warm up and get going again after the festivities, but for the past 3 years I’ve found that this is a good opportunity to take a well-earned rest after the flat-out autumn period. Heading for the southern hemisphere or equator to get some winter sun while demand is slack is a great way to capitalise. February to July are busy, with a slight lull over Easter but without the dip in activity around the end of the financial year that I had expected. August can be another calm period, and there is some evidence that demand for translation loosely follows the academic year. However, this factor is complicated by variations in dates and lengths of school and university holidays across Europe. Furthermore, translators also take holidays, making it more difficult to find someone to do the work, therefore the apparent fall in demand is somewhat compensated by a fall in competition.

I have now got used to taking a deep breath, in the form of a long, restful weekend away, before the inevitable onslaught that occurs each year from the beginning of September to mid-December. This is my most hectic period, when I barely have time look up from my computer and effective time-management becomes essential. One might expect the build up to Christmas to be quiet due to a reluctance of clients to take on new projects or a shortage of money towards year-end, but this is offset by a rush to complete tasks before the new year.

Another observation is the definite increase in requirements towards the end of the week, often making it difficult to avoid working over weekends. It’s rarely possible to take an actual holiday on a bank holiday either.

Despite this apparent trend, which facilitates planning to some extent, there is still a randomness to the flow of emails that land in my inbox. Two or even three working days can pass without a single request, then the tap is turned back on and I receive more than I can possibly complete by the suggested deadlines. In the initial stages I felt a sense of emptiness and doubt during slow periods, but these never last long and I don’t worry any more. As I mentioned in that March 2017 post, it’s an opportunity to delete closed projects and obsolete documents - which is a highly satisfying way to “clean up” the computer and can take a surprising amount of time - catch up with accounting, invoicing and filing, or allow the computer to perform the updates held in a queue.

If I’m honest, the workload ups and downs are matched by emotional swings. At one end, there is the excitement of getting a new project, especially if it’s a long one that will take weeks, the anticipation of working on something intriguing, and the pleasant sensation of being valued and appreciated when able to accept work from an efficient, reliable client with good communication and courtesy, or the nice feeling of being able to share someone’s relief when, at 6.30 on a Friday evening, they have finally found someone to translate something in a hurry. But there is also the guilt and the anxiety. I can’t help feeling guilt pangs when I receive a translation request while on holiday and haven’t brought my computer, particularly when it’s something I would love to have worked on. Or anxiety when I am already so booked up that I can’t meet the requirements of someone I’d really like to help. As a former schoolteacher, I would always try to do everything I was asked to do. It was demanding and hectic, sometimes bordering on the unreasonable, but really a question of organising the available time.  I’m not used to declining tasks, but it’s sometimes inevitable now.

Nevertheless, I enjoy this work immensely and have never regretted making this step. One simple solution to the frustration of having to let someone down is to reply honestly, saying that whilst there's no immediate availability, the translation could be delivered on a later, specified date. It’s not always possible for a client to push back a deadline, but at least it shows willingness to collaborate.

If you are reading this and have comments or can contribute your own observations, please do get in touch, by emailing:
melanie@mxrscientifictranslation.com
or simply send me some details via the contact page on this site.



Optical effects 2: Laser eye surgery

29/4/2018

 
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It’s surprising how many of the expressions we use daily, without thinking, are associated with our sense of sight. I was reminded of this during the nerve-racking days leading up to my recent eye surgery. I found myself saying, “I’ll see you at the party”, for which we were collecting money “with a view to” buying a collective present, picked out by someone with vision and an eye for detail. I was feeling “blind terror” while obsessively reading patient reviews detailing the procedure I was about to undergo, and friends told me they imagined I must be feeling “optimistic” about the outcome, though I would have to wear dark glasses for the foreseeable future.

A large proportion of my translation work is concerned with the pharmaceutical industry, and its many documents detailing the trialling, manufacture, inspection, marketing authorisation and directions for use by patients and healthcare providers of many varieties of medication and devices. It’s surprising how many of these products are intended for eye care: antibiotic eyedrops, anti-inflammatory eyedrops, soothing eyedrops, eyedrops to treat blepharitis or conjunctivitis, eyedrops to reduce redness, and a wide range of medicinal ointments for eyecare. The concept of sight, and the fear of losing or jeopardising it, is of undeniable importance to us. 

Palaeontologists believe that the evolution of the eye was a key moment in the history of the animal kingdom. Scientists at London's Natural History Museum, as reported by the FT, recently researched the link between the evolution of sight and colour, with the latter being used, for example, for decoration to attract a mate or camouflage, once sight had developed well enough to be able to perceive different shades. There is overwhelming fossil evidence for a sudden burst in diversity of life: the so-called “Cambrian explosion” around 545-530 million years ago. This significant moment marked the transition from simple photoreceptors, which may have helped early worms move towards light, to a much more sophisticated and intricate organ, eventually leading to high-resolution perception. It doesn’t take much to imagine the benefits of such a development to creatures living on the seabed – being able to locate food, spot prey, be alerted to the approach of a predator are among the more obvious. 

And how much of the sensory information we receive is visual? According to the National Geographic, approximately 30% of all neurons in the cerebral cortex are reserved for processing and interpreting visual data.

With so much at stake, it is small wonder that protecting our sight is a high priority, and it’s hardly surprising that you get nervous when someone is coming towards your eyeball with a cutting tool.
Almost a year after blogging in May 2017 about some of the vision problems I was finding when spending long periods at the computer, I had laser treatment. As I mentioned in that post, working long hours in front of a screen is not an activity specific to translators, but I find the way my document is usually presented on the screen – source language on the left and target on the right, in a very small (occasionally minuscule) font size – makes for particularly close, rather intense work for which total concentration is vital. The need to focus (there’s another) on meaning, and not lose my place in the text, means that I often fail to blink as often as I might, effectively reducing the natural irrigation to the eyes.

Computer work wasn’t my only reason for taking this step. I’d been considering it for years. At minus 7 in one eye and something approaching minus 7 in the other, I’d had enough of staggering around and banging into things if I needed to get up during the night. I wore contact lenses virtually every day for 40 years and decided that was long enough. While some people manage to look intellectual or professional wearing glasses – they can lend a certain style when repeatedly removed and replaced by an individual chairing a meeting – my appearance in spectacles designed to correct such extreme myopia combined with astigmatism was more like that of a science fiction or cartoon character, with the eyes reduced to shrivelled peas behind a thick vitreous barrier. Camping was the worst. Not only the struggle to insert lenses without running water, but the tripping over guy ropes and partially hammered-in pegs when returning to the tent after dark.

It took the surgeons some time to convince me to have what is known as monovision surgery, which was not my initial preference. This essentially meant having one eye corrected to zero (20/20), and the other left slightly under-corrected (to -1) so that it could be focussed for reading. The brain, I was told, would eventually compensate for any blurring that I might experience because of this. I had gone in preferring to have both eyes fully corrected and use reading glasses. In the end I was persuaded by their obvious confidence and extensive experience of many patients.
I won’t go into detail about the procedure itself, which felt a little like having the eye clamped open and an ice cube pressed very hard into the socket. This has been extensively and eloquently described in countless reviews on the websites of various surgery providers. I’m a fairly anxious person and was mortally terrified before the surgery, but it was quickly over, and I began to feel the benefits straight away.

It’s still early days. My eyes need time to adjust and I’m not functioning fully at night-time, but so far I am getting the impression that they were right about the monovision. Being able to read an email or a message from a customer on my phone without groping around for my reading glasses, while also being able to glance up at the clock on the wall to check whether I have enough time to complete the request, is very convenient. As long as I have plenty of light, I can read, write and thus translate with no aids to my vision. Even small text is clear, and I’m feeling an enormous sense of comfort knowing that the surfaces of my corneas are no longer being compressed and suffocated by a plastic disc. Nor do I have the annoyance of having to peer over a pair of spectacles balanced on my nose when someone in the room wants to speak to me. To anyone considering laser treatment, I would say go ahead. Any minor inconvenience during the lead time or recovery period (in my case the horror of having to go without make-up) is worth it.
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I am very impressed with the care, attention to detail, skill, personal touch, technological know-how, warmth and compassion I experienced at the Accuvision clinic in Fulham. I cannot praise the optometrists, ophthalmologists, surgeons and receptionists highly enough. Their extensive and thorough testing, record-keeping, understanding, communication and the extended, rigorous follow-up have been remarkable. Here is an organisation that realises that they are doing more than simply selling a service or product – this is an intricate medical procedure that is taken very seriously. From my point of view, “thank you” does not quite cover it.


A language created by thinking in pictures: Ancient Egypt’s colourful story-telling legacy

30/3/2018

 
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The panel in the photograph, taken inside the Temple of Osiris in Abydos, shows the pharaoh Seti I in the presence of the god Anubis, who is symbolised with the head of a jackal.
 
 
I could go into the details of my recent trip Egypt: the significance of the Aswan Dam and the Ethiopian Dam further upstream; running out of water in the Nile; being stranded on a sandbank; the variety of food and flavoured tobaccos.

But this series of blogs has been entirely about communication and its importance, and how communication is achieved. As a linguist, what I found most intriguing was not the language of hieroglyphics, which I wouldn’t even attempt to comprehend, but how drawings and paintings were used so effectively to tell a story or record events and observations.

I’m no expert in ancient Egyptian art or history, but I had excellent guides who helped me make sense of the hundreds of images I took on my camera phone.

Egyptian history has a complexity that would challenge even the most arduous scholar. Broadly speaking, there are five time periods belonging to the ancient world: the Old Kingdom (2600-2160BC); the Middle Kingdom (2040-1700BC); the New Kingdom (1570-1070BC); the Late Period (600-332BC); and the Greco-Roman period (332BC-AD395). But there are also those stretches of time in between, the ones not characterised by influential rulers, such as the first, second and third intermediate periods, bridging the gaps following the Old, Middle and New Kingdoms respectively.
My tour began with the tombs of Rameses IV, Rameses III and Merenptah in the Valley of the Kings, followed by a visit to the Temple of Hatshepsut not far away. We then moved onto the Temple of Isis on the island of Philae. I spent a couple of days gazing, bewildered, at the images surrounding me, with no knowledge of history or the context in which to place them. It occurred to me that the best place to start was to learn the names, symbolic representations and functions of the gods in the painted figures, reliefs and statues, and how to recognise them.

Armed with guidebooks, maps, and the notes I had jotted down on listening to the guide at the various sites (yes – I’m the person at the back with a notepad and pen, straining to hear every word and hanging back to finish looking and scribbling, sprinting to catch up), I returned to the cabin and set out to memorise the information.

And so I managed to construct a simple but hopefully helpful summary. The information is difficult to condense from any one source. For one thing, worship of some gods dates back to the Old Kingdom and, over time, their role, importance, mythology, representation, and even their paternity or maternity can change. For example, Anubis was believed by some to be the son of Nephthys, while others supposed him to be the son of Bastet or Isis.


NAME
HOW DEPICTED IN PAINTINGS AND CARVINGS
MOST WIDELY KNOWN ROLE/ SIGNIFICANCE

Osiris
As a mummy, with the ceremonial curved beard, with a white crown, and carrying the flail and crozier
King of the underworld, the great god of the dead, god of agriculture

Isis
Wearing a headdress representing a throne, or wearing a vulture headdress with a serpent on the brow, or as a winged goddess or kite
A patron goddess of childbirth and motherhood, wife of Osiris, whom she raised from the dead after he was slaughtered by Set, and mother of Horus

Hathor
Most often in the form of a cow, or a woman with a cow’s ears or horns
Sky goddess. Goddess of women, fertility, children and childbirth; also of beauty and cosmetics and perfumes; and music, dance, romance, joy and many more

Horus
Usually as a falcon or man with a falcon head
Husband of Hathor and son of Osiris and Isis. Embodiment of order. Always placed in opposition to or in conflict with Set

Sobek
As a crocodile or man with a crocodile head
Associated with power and success in war, but also a protector against dangers in the River Nile

Set
Shown as a black boar, pig, donkey or another animal associated with danger or the unclean
Symbol of evil and embodiment of chaos. Believed to swallow the moon each month. Famous for battle with Horus and for murdering Osiris. Represents the desert

Anubis
Usually as a man with the head of a jackal with black fur – black being a colour associated with fertility
Guardian and protector of the dead, associated with embalming and funeral rites; he also presided over the weighing of the heart. Patron saint of lost souls. Originally god of the underworld

Bastet or Bast
As a cat or woman with the head of a cat or lion
Goddess of warfare, but later seen as having a protective role, defender of the pharaoh or goddess of the moon, or of perfumes. Protector against disease and evil spirits

Ptah
As a mummified man holding a staff
Patron of sculptors, painters, architects and carpenters, a god of rebirth and protector of Egypt

Thoth
As a man with the head of an ibis, often holding a stylus and writer’s palette
Patron of scribes and writing. Also associated with medicine, wisdom, time and magic

Nephthys
Usually as a woman crowned with the hieroglyphics that symbolise her name, which consist of the sign for a sacred temple, though can be as a kite or hawk
Wife of Set. Represents the air. Goddess of death and mourning. Believed to be the source of rain and the Nile

By the time I arrived at Kom Ombo and the Temple of Sobek, I had at least memorised a modest amount of information and felt better equipped to make some attempt to follow the stories. So what of the stories chiselled into the walls?

It isn’t always a story – sometimes more of a description of circumstances, or ongoing, eternal events. To me, some of the most beautiful paintings, dominated by the colour turquoise, appear on the ceilings of the Temple of Hathor at Dendera. By craning the neck 90 degrees and following the illustrations from one end of the building to the other, we can, for example, see how the goddess Nut gives birth to the sun every morning, then swallows it at nightfall.

Much of the artwork appears to depict the importance of staying on the right side of the gods. Pharaohs Rameses II, a fascinating, powerful but evidently narcissistic character, and his father Seti I, are seen in panel after panel making offerings to the gods. In other panels, a pharaoh is seen with Anubis, jackal-god, who places a hand upon the shoulder of the pharaoh as a gesture of safe escort. These pictures show that the death process had considerable meaning to the ancient Egyptians. Rulers wanted to be assured of a safe passage into the underworld and a welcome reception once they got there.

There are countless panels containing depictions of offerings to gods – and it is worth looking closely at the objects being offered, which are often related to the characteristics of the gods in question. For example, mortals are depicted offering mirrors to the goddess Hathor, who is associated with the cosmetic arts.

Not all images are entirely religious. Secular illustrations of Rameses II and Rameses III riding a military chariot, defeating the enemy and training their offspring to fight, can be seen in large, bold carvings and paintings on the walls at Karnak, Abu Simbal and many other places, a message of prowess and invincibility that must be perpetually understood by all.
​

Occasionally, the identity of a ruler is not immediately apparent, and it becomes necessary to look more closely at the cartouche – an oval-shaped inscription in which the name of a king or queen is written in the form of symbols. These are always found in tombs and temples, usually above the head of the individual they belong to and are very useful in identification and dating. The idea was to eternally encircle the name of the pharaoh, so that he would be preserved after death, and to protect him against evil spirits. Below are some examples of lettering.

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​
Picture
Hieroglyph M
Picture
Hieroglyph C

The symbols inside a cartouche don’t always stand for single letters, but rather sounds or syllables. If we look closely at the famous cartouche of Tutankhamun, for example, the symbol in the top left, which looks a little like a comb, represents the sound “men”, originating from a Turkish word meaning “myself”. Put together with the symbol to its right and the one below, the sound “amun” is created. On the third line, the bird symbol represents the letter “U”, with the familiar ankh symbol, the cross with a handle, which represents eternal life, wisdom and fertility, on the left. (See below)
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Picture

Egyptian art was a highly skilled and jealous profession. Sculptors and painters studied in dedicated colleges for years before earning the right to work on the temples and tombs of the pharaohs. These people were highly regarded and handsomely rewarded (in the absence of currency, payment was made in the form of goods, property and food). The remains of a village were found in the Valley of the Workers on the West Bank, the bank associated with death and burial, near Luxor, which proves that painters were accommodated in comfortable, spacious houses.

As a former science teacher, I’m always fascinated by the origins of colour, and I was captivated by the striking effect of the pigments used to record history in the tomb and temple paintings. The ancients did not have at their disposal the vast array of colours enjoyed by today’s artists, yet the variety and detail with which they painted, and the visually attractive pairing and contrasting of colours, are often breath-taking. Pigments were manufactured from locally available minerals. The pigment green, for example, could be produced from malachite (Copper carbonate). Charcoal would have provided the black colour, gypsum the whites, while yellows could be produced from ochre, a source of Iron oxides. Blues could be made from azurite and reds from arsenic compounds.

Colours also had meaning. The colour black, for example, was often associated with the silt of the Nile, which was linked with fertility. There were rigorously controlled methods for mixing the paints, treating the stone by smoothing, filling and plastering before it was painted, and the laying out of scenes in a marked-off area gridded with squares, before illustrating could even begin. Grids would have helped the artists to proportion the figures correctly. The work was subject to scrutiny and correction by master artists, and the final painting was carried out one colour at a time.

It is widely accepted that Egypt owes much of the rare degree of preservation of its historical artefacts and monuments, and thereby its thriving tourist industry, to its arid climate. Annual rainfall is extremely low. When looking at this work, it is certainly difficult to believe that these images have survived for thousands of years. But this probably means that we fail to acknowledge the extent to which artists went to ensure survival of their work. Rather than painting into a thin layer of wet plaster, as done in conventional fresco painting, analysis reveals that paint was applied to dried plaster. Varnish or resin was also applied after painting. The artists’ attention to detail is phenomenal.

The Ancient Egyptians were not the only ancient civilisation to write in pictures and symbols. Pictorial Jiahu symbols dating back to the 7th millennium BC have been found on a range of Neolithic sites in China. During the 4th millennium BC the Sumerians were also using impressions in clay to keep accounts. There are many examples of early forms of written communication at times when exchange of messages between groups of people was slow and dependent on the most basic of tools and materials, and equally basic forms of transport.
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The lengths the Egyptians went to in order to communicate and to leave us their messages made me consider the throwaway nature of our exchanges today, and how reliant we have become on instant messages and equally instant responses.
 

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    I am a French-to-English and Italian-to-English translator. This blog is inspired by my experiences translating and my passion for science, languages, education and fundraising for charities.

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