An act of translation is always an act of betrayal.
For the literary academic, Babel, Or the Necessity of Violence: An Arcane History of the Oxford Translators’ Revolution, by R.F. Kuang has it all. Perfectly executed dark academic aesthetic, a tight-knit group of friends—each one complex, funny, and courageous—hours upon hours of well-paid research, a title as long as this article’s is, and more. It also explores the racism embedded within the academic ecosystem that far too often goes ignored. Something that Kuang, a Chinese woman currently pursuing a PhD in East Asian Languages and Literatures at Yale and having degrees from Oxford and Cambridge, is well experienced with. In the novel, Kuang explores something that, for ease, we can identify as “the beginning” of the academic world we live with today: Oxford during the 1830s, and England on the precipice of war with China.
Throughout the book we follow Robin Swift, a boy “rescued” from Canton at a young age and raised by Professor Lovell, a linguistic professor and silver-worker for Oxford University in the “Translations Institute.” In this fantastical novel, silver, when inscribed with a match-pair (words from two different languages that carry a stronger meaning together than they do apart), has the ability to do what could be qualified as magic and is driving the industrial revolution. Robin, as a native speaker of Cantonese, is a valuable resource for the university with his intimate knowledge of the language, rare in Great Britain. With Robin, we learn the intricacies of Latin, Greek, English, and more. We discover the different levels of the Tower of Babel, where Robin conducts his classes and hopes to work in the future. We gain a cohort of friends: Ramy, from Calcutta; Victoire, from Haiti; and Letty, a native white British. Together they experience hardships as minorities in the university, and though isolated as they may be in the world of Oxford, the consequences of the global theater begin to influence their lives.
We’re here to make magic with words.
Aside from English, I speak passable Spanish, but lose more every day, and have never had a significant interest in etymology. But Kuang attacks this novel with the ferocity that confirms she truly belongs to the ranks of academics— I felt like I needed to study for an exam with all of the technical information she brought into every page, chock full of footnotes that had dry, brutal humor, to accompany the numerous history lessons I received on the the birth-stories of unassuming words. Her dedication is admirable, and the passion with which the characters in the novel study linguistics allowed me to see the beauty in it, and I found myself wishing I was next to them, pulling 20 hour days to study for the next exam, and learning a new language. I genuinely want to revive my Spanish, and learn Latin, French, maybe Portuguese. It’s a tall order, and unlikely to happen with the way my life is laid out. But I can at least pretend to be Robin Swift, and open up Duolingo again.
You have such a great fear of freedom, brother. It’s shackling you. You’ve identified so hard with the colonizer, you think any threat to them is a threat to you. When are you going to realize you can’t be one of them?
The same passion that Kuang has for the intricacies of languages, she has for the process of decolonization. In fact, the two are incredibly intertwined. This novel recognizes the importance of difference. How much languages can show us about cultures, values, and intellect. That we can learn from each other—education should not only go one way. Oxford has deep flaws that are exposed throughout the progression of the novel, but it is committed to the pursuit of knowledge. In the Translation Institute, that knowledge is trying to close the gap that exists between languages. Through this, and the way that the university treats the foreign students whose knowledge they covet but personhood they discard, Babel asks: do we love each other despite or because of our differences?
I think I know what the answer would be.
Language is a tool. It has been, and always will be. In the humanities, and in academia as a whole, we try to distance ourselves from the violence done by other sectors of our country: the military, the government, the protestors. But language is the epicenter for all of that, and Kuang represents that through the silver bars that fuel the entire country, and drive Britain’s colonial pursuits. Undoubtedly, her message is that all forms of colonialism are violence. Erasure of language is violence. The idea of ownership, of something foreign, is violence. Looking away is violence. Babel asks hard questions and asks us to confront white privilege and our own complicity in the inherently violent systems. It should make you uncomfortable, but it is also cathartic. Fiction cannot be the only resource we use in revolution, but Babel is a good first step for those who don’t know where to start.
If you choose to read Babel (and I believe that you should), I highly recommend also listening to/reading Toni Morrison’s Nobel Lecture from 1993, which discusses the power of language, and the consequences. You can locate it by following this link: https://www.nobelprize.org/prizes/literature/1993/morrison/lecture/
With 560 pages in the paperback, and stuffed with academic language, Babel is a daunting and radical book. But, with all of its brilliance as a piece of literature, and an argument for reclamation, it is worth it. If you don’t feel ready, maybe check out some of RF Kuang’s other work, The Poppy War Trilogy (a fantasy series that covers similar themes), or Yellowface (contemporary commentary on racism in the publishing industry). Or do your own research— start where you feel comfortable, and then push the dial a bit out of your comfort zone. To learn, we must be challenged, but we must be open to it.
Ultimately, Babel takes the justification of the British empire for their escapades and turns it on its head: Is violence necessary, and what kinds will we accept when it benefits us?
That’s just what translation is, I think. That’s all speaking is. Listening to the other and trying to see past your own biases to glimpse what they’re trying to say. Showing yourself to the world, and hoping someone else understands.