The paradox of the Ship of Theseus has fueled debates for millennia and involves the Greek hero replacing, one by one, the rotting planks of his ship with new ones. This raises questions about identity and change: is the new version still the same boat functionally? Or has the replacement of the planks fundamentally altered its identity?
Sometimes translated works have been compared to this paradox. If all the words are new, does the text still retain its identity? Debates around this question vary depending on the form of the work. The discourse on translated poetry, for example, is not the same as that on translated prose.
Over the years, reflection on the art and work of literary translation has evolved: it is no longer just about what is lost, but also about what is interpreted, transformed, and gained in service of the original narrative.
On the occasion of World Book Day, Euronews Culture spoke with Sophie Hughes, judge of the International Booker Prize 2026 and the most frequently nominated translator in the prize’s history. They discussed the art of literary translation, the role of translators in creating international communities of readers and authors, and the future of this practice.
Euronews Culture: Since the inception of the International Booker Prize over a decade ago, the prize has spotlighted fiction works translated from around the world, rewarding both authors and translators. Why was it important to distinguish these two actors?
Sophie Hughes: A translated book can truly be considered a book that has been written twice. The meticulous and creative work of a literary translator is hard to measure. Two distinct languages are not simply slightly different from each other: they are extremely, sometimes radically, different. This means that the words you read in a translation are the translator’s words, even if chosen while keeping the author’s in mind.
Translators, like all readers, interpret. They constantly make decisions on behalf of the author but also the future reader, balancing both. If a novel has 60,000 words and the two languages have no lexicon in common, this represents at least 60,000 decisions per book. And of course, it’s much more if you consider syntax, punctuation, spelling, dialects, intention, tone, linguistic and cultural conventions, English variants, and the list goes on.
So, it’s significant that the International Booker Prize, with the renown and popularity of the Booker Prizes, considers the translator as a kind of co-author, awarding them half of the prize money and half of the merit for creating a work of high literary value.
How does translation influence the literary process and the impact of a finished work?
The translator and 2017 International Booker Prize judge, Daniel Hahn, wrote that translators must “write exactly the same book – exactly the same – without using any of the same words”. In other words, translation transforms texts. Fortunately, over the past twenty years, we’ve moved away from debates on what is lost in translation to better appreciate what is gained.
First and foremost, many readers gain access to books they otherwise couldn’t read. Publishing contemporary fiction from around the world expands our worldview and enriches the quality of conversations (and debates) we have about the world, whether it’s the latest news or deep-seated ideas, inherited or deeply rooted, about people and places we don’t know.
There’s also much to gain on the page itself. I love this anecdote: Samuel Beckett, who initially wrote the short story “Sans” in French, discovered in retranslating it himself that the peculiar malleability of English allowed him to ditch the preposition for what he saw as a richer metaphysical title, “Lessness”. When he later reverted to the original title, he apparently realized “there was no French noun capable of expressing absence itself”. The translation improved on the original. And that’s not so rare!
How does the work of translators influence the larger community of readers and authors?
All the professional translators I know are passionate readers, and that passion is contagious. Thanks in large part to the internet, today’s translators don’t just translate texts: they also recommend authors, new or unknown to English-language publishers, and advocate for their books through essays, interviews, or literary events.
Conveying the meaning and tone is absolutely essential. As Edith Grossman, a great translator of “Astérix” and other masterpieces, wrote, “fidelity is our noble aim”. But I also see today’s translators as the best ambassadors for instilling a simple enthusiasm for a book or author. For readers looking to broaden their horizons, to read stories beyond the boundaries of their own lives, our role is also to be highly reliable and well-informed guides.
Are there any translations that have particularly captured the essence of the original work? And cases where the translation truly went astray?
On potential missteps, precisely because translation involves an act of reader interpretation, it’s easy to compare an original text and its translation and say, “That’s not what it means!” or “There’s a better word for that!”. But by doing so, we end up missing out on the pleasure of reading translations.
In my view, a successful translation leaves no trace of what the writer Lina Mounzer once described to me as the “laborious agony” of translation. The 13 books on this year’s International Booker Prize longlist all offer memorable translations, but for different reasons: particularly lively dialogues, sublime lyrical flights, sentences with relentless rhythm, irresistibly humorous touches, or ingenious wordplay. And all, without exception, give the impression that it’s easy, arguably the clearest sign of a great translation.
Has the discourse on the art of translation and the role of translators in the literary process changed in the past decade?
This change is almost radical. Looking further back, the 1990s saw a “cultural turn” in the reception and study of translation, with increased attention on the role of culture in translation and the realization that countries have not only their languages, but also their beliefs, customs, and values, inseparable from the stories written there. The widely held idea of a neutral ideal translator shattered, and the inherently personal and subjective nature of interpretation was acknowledged.
In the past decade, we’ve taken a new step: from accepting this subjectivity, we’ve moved to celebrating it. Translators are often rightly compared to actors interpreting the role written by a playwright or screenwriter. More and more literary prizes, like the International Booker Prize, take this into account, and as a result, many readers no longer differentiate between reading a book in translation and reading a book originally written in English. Recent data shows that sales of translated fiction in the UK have been steadily increasing in recent years, with strong engagement, particularly among 25-34 year-olds.
With technological advances, particularly AI tools and translation software, do you think the role of human translators in the creative process will change?
It has already changed, and further evolutions are inevitable, as in most sectors. For example, more and more publishers are hiring translators to “retranslate” literary works, meaning revising texts initially translated by software, in the name of economic efficiency.
As a judge for the 2026 International Booker Prize, I read 128 translated works this year, ranging from hilariously strange, richly ambiguous, linguistically playful, intelligent, wildly imaginative, to heartbreakingly human. So, I can confidently predict that we are still far from the moment when machines will properly translate literature from scratch or when most publishers will consider replacing human translators.
Currently, the models on which these software rely allow them to “read” in a reasonable and general way, but who goes to the library or bookstore to seek out generalized, purely rational literature? Most of us are looking for a human connection, stories that resonate. Going back to what I said about translators as writers: if you prefer your writers to be human, it’s best that your translators remain human too.
The winner of the 2026 International Booker Prize will be announced on Tuesday, May 19, at a ceremony at the Tate Modern in London.
This year’s final selection includes: Daniel Kehlmann (“The Director”, translated by Ross Benjamin); Marie NDiaye (“The Witch”, translated by Jordan Stump); Yung Shu-Ling (“Taiwan Travelogue”, translated by Lin King); Ana Paula Maia (“On Earth As It Is Beneath”, translated by Padma Viswanathan); Rene Karabash (“She Who Remains”, translated by Izidora Angel); and Shida Bazyar (“The Nights Are Quiet In Tehran”, translated by Ruth Martin).
