Jaehwa Bernardo

Filipino authors and translators Genevieve Asenjo and Ninotchka Rosca. Photos courtesy of Rosca and Vince Naval 

Article (news)

Beyond translation: Why Filipino stories are finding global readers

Mye Mulingtapang

<div><img src="https://od2-image-api.abs-cbn.com/prod/editorImage/17816748204232-Composite (2) 1.jpg" style="width:960px" class="fr-fic fr-dib" width="960"/>Filipino authors and translators Genevieve Asenjo and Ninotchka Rosca. Photos courtesy of Rosca and Vince Naval </div>When you pick up a translated book, it&#x27;s easy to forget that another person stands between you and the original text.If the writing flows naturally and preserves the emotional weight of the story, the translator has likely done their job well. Yet translation is never a simple transfer of words from one language to another. It is an act of interpretation.In the Philippines, that act carries particular urgency. An archipelago with more than 180 living languages cannot rely on a single literary voice. Translation is not only a bridge to international audiences; it is also a bridge Filipinos must build among themselves.But what exactly is gained and lost when Philippine literature changes languages?Three literary figures offer different answers.Long before social media and digital publishing expanded literary networks, Filipino writers were already reaching international audiences. Among them is Ninotchka Rosca, the acclaimed novelist, journalist, and human rights activist best known for &quot;State of War.&quot;For Rosca, seeing her work travel abroad was both disorienting and illuminating.&quot;It was both strange and edifying. Strange, because I couldn&#x27;t understand a single sentence in the translations, of course; edifying, because it was akin to journeying to another realm. One didn&#x27;t know how the work was going to be received by readers who belong to another civilization, as it were,&quot; she said.Her words capture one of translation&#x27;s great paradoxes. Once a book enters another language, it no longer entirely belongs to its author. It begins another life.Yet Rosca insists that translation requires much more than bilingual proficiency.&quot;Translating is a difficult art; it requires not simply knowing the languages one is working with but also the historical and social contexts of expressions and metaphors,&quot; she said, recalling how she translated materials for Filipino labor unions in the United States and having to explain why certain phrases could not simply be converted into Taglish.&quot;Taglish varies with circumstances and the vocabulary pertinent to the work being done. One group&#x27;s Taglish could differ from others,&#x27;&quot; she said.Language, she argues, is inseparable from community.<div>When meanings refuse to travel</div>Translation becomes even more difficult when humor, allusion, and cultural references are involved.Rosca recalled struggling with Pete Lacaba&#x27;s phrase &quot;santong paspasan,&quot; searching for an English equivalent that could preserve both its humor and its unsettling undertones.&quot;How does one translate that phrase to retain the overtone of street lingo and sexual assault? I ended up with &#x27;blessed banging&#x27; – trying to maintain the humor and the social context of the language Pete used,&quot; she said.Some losses are unavoidable. &quot;A layer of nuance is assuredly lost,&quot; she said, particularly in poetry, where metaphors and historical references often resist direct translation.And yet translation remains necessary. Without it, entire literary traditions would remain inaccessible.<div>A country of many literatures</div>For author Genevieve Asenjo, translation is equally an act of trust. Her novel &quot;Lumbay ng Dila,&quot; explores memory, identity, migration, and belonging. The decision to write in a regional language was itself an affirmation that stories rooted in local communities deserve to exist on their own terms.When given the opportunity to recommend a translator for the novel&#x27;s English edition, she immediately thought of novelist and translator Ana Margarita Nuñez.Asenjo explained: &quot;It&#x27;s not only lexical, right? You also translate sensibility, the rhythm, cultures.&quot;Her words reveal something essential about Philippine literature: Translation is not merely about preserving information; it is about preserving experience. This matters in a country where stories emerge from Tagalog, Cebuano, Ilokano, Waray, Hiligaynon, Kinaray-a, Kapampangan, Tausug, and dozens of other linguistic traditions.There is no singular Philippine literature. There are many Philippine literary works and translation simply creates another doorway into them.Translator Nuñez encounters these challenges every day. While translating &quot;Lumbay ng Dila&quot; into English, she came across a word every Filipino instantly understands but that has no direct English equivalent: mano. The gesture, performed by placing an elder&#x27;s hand on one&#x27;s forehead, is a familiar sign of respect in many Filipino households.Nuñez explained: &quot;I had to translate the word &#x27;mano,&#x27; which every Filipino understands. It&#x27;s still practiced fairly regularly and a textbook example of Filipino culture that shows respect for elders.&quot;She said translating it simply as &quot;bless&quot; felt inadequate.The gesture is more than an action. It contains ideas of family, respect, hierarchy, and intergenerational relationships that cannot be condensed into a single English word.These moments reveal why translation is often called an invisible art. The translator is constantly making choices about what can be carried across languages and what must be carefully explained.<div>Why readers are paying attention</div>International visibility for Philippine literature has improved significantly over the last two decades, according to Rosca.But she also identifies persistent challenges.&quot;A large percentage of our population overseas did not read even before the advent of the Internet; it&#x27;s gotten worse since then, I think. And there&#x27;s a derivative sameness to our literary perspective, the absence of originality in theme and presentation in our narratives and poetry,&quot; she said.Rosca added that the issue extends beyond literature. &quot;This is not limited to literature; one sees it in the visual arts, theatre, films, music. It&#x27;s the market determining aesthetics,&quot; she said.Yet she also believes the path forward is clear.&quot;International visibility is, ironically, affected by both originality and familiarity, in terms of universal themes presented from a different perspective and in a different way,&quot; Rosca said.

When you pick up a translated book, it's easy to forget that another person stands between you and the original text.

When you pick up a translated book, it's easy to forget that another person stands between you and the original text.