These questions, about the hidden traps of words and phrases, are the subject of what may be the weirdest book the twenty-first century has so far produced: “Dictionary of Untranslatables: A Philosophical Lexicon,” a thirteen-hundred-page volume, originally edited in French by the French philologist Barbara Cassin but now published, by Princeton University Press, in a much altered
English edition, overseen by the comp-lit luminaries Emily Apter, Jacques Lezra, and Michael Wood. How weird is it? Let us count the ways. It is in part an anti-English protest, taking arms against the imperializing spread of our era’s, well, lingua franca—which has now been offered in English, so that everyone can understand it. The book’s presupposition is that there are significant, namable, untranslatable differences between tongues, so that, say, “history” in English, histoire in French, and Geschichte in German have very different boundaries that we need to grasp if we are to understand the texts in which the words occur. The editors, propelled by this belief, also believe it to be wrong. In each entry of the Dictionary, the differences are tracked, explained, and made perfectly clear in English, which rather undermines the premise that these terms are untranslatable, except in the dim sense that it sometimes takes a few words in one language to indicate a concept that is more succinctly embodied in one word in another.
Although one might argue that Adam Gopnik’s invocation of “a liberal in France is on the right, in America to the left” as an “untranslatable” tends to have a less profound explanation.
I mean, a description or definition isn’t a translation, exactly (or at all, necessarily). Often, as in this case, I suspect, when people talk about a “translation” they mean a single word or two that can sub in for the foreign word - but that’s usually a false equivalency, with words not quite meaning the same thing at best (and at worse, that kind of translation can give a completely misleading sense of what was being originally said). Ultimately it’s about being able to replace the original word with text of sufficient brevity and concise contextual meanings that it does ruin a poem/bit of prose/subtitle/etc., even if it’s not quite right, so long as you can get the gist.
A word with a lot of contextual meanings is translatable so long as each instance has a closely equivalent word. But something like Backpfeifengesicht is always going to require an unwieldy English bit of text to capture it - and things like honorifics, etc. will likely have no functional equivalent (and will probably require altering entire conversations to give contextual clues about relationships that might be encoded in other parts of the language in other tongues).
Japanese has many different words for “I” and “You,” ranging from polite to downright crude (yes, even for “I”).
There is no way to translate these, but to give you an example of the difference, Ed Norton’s character in Fight Club calls himself 僕 (“Boku”) while Brad Pitt’s character calls himself 俺 (“Ore”) in the subtitles/dubbing, and this tells you a whole lot about the kinds of characters they are.
ETA: I personally always use the word 僕 (“Boku”) to refer to myself, and when I say 俺 (“Ore”), people say that it just doesn’t fit my character.
“Boku” is exclusively used by males (the feminine equivalent is “atashi,” but this screams “teenage girl” to the point that it is hard to take an adult woman who uses it seriously), and it conveys a passive, non-threatening vibe (the same character is used in 下僕, which means"servant").
The important thing in that conversation is that he is talking to his good friends. He would still use “Boku” when talking with teachers (and would possibly even get in trouble with teachers if he used “Ore”).
That’s what is so great about that conversation in “Your Name.” He is not just establishing his identity. He is also establishing his relationship (one could even say “pecking order”) with the other boys as well.
At least in anime, “boku” is also sometimes used by female characters who are tomboyish or aggressive, or who display other stereotypically “masculine” characteristics: I have no idea whether this is at all reflective of reality, but on the back of your comment, I now suspect not.
In an anime I won’t name to avoid giving spoilers, there is an apparently sweet and demure 11-year-old girl, both in appearance (hime haircut and everything) and (mostly) in demeanour, who uses boku exclusively (and also yobisute’s everyone, including adults: there are in-story reasons for both). When she gets her wish and starts attending an incredibly exclusive, posh and snobby girls’ school, you can hear her mind changing gears during her first conversation with her new classmates : “Boku — watashi…”
Another “textbook” example is Erased: the original title is “Boku dake ga inai machi” (the town where only I am missing) - but the young girl MC clearly says and writes “Watashi dake ga inai machi” in her composition, while still using boku colloquially.
I know anime Japanese is not 100% real Japanese, but still this kind of nuances are extremely difficult to translate in any of the languages I know (IT, EN, FR, some SV), if not outright impossible without extended periphrasis and added context - much more so than Backpfeifengesicht (e.g. in my mother tongue - IT: “faccia da schiaffi” it’s literally word for word AFAICS).
The list of Italian words on eunoia is a bit disconcerting: most of them have straight translations, such as:
Commuovere" == to move - in the ‘elicit compassion’ meaning from Latin ‘cum mŏvēre’ - to move together (and mŏvēre itself could have that meaning in Latin!)
Gattara == cat lady, from gatto (cat) and -ara, a regional (central Italy, Rome) suffix meaning “a lady involved in” such as “lavandara” = laundry lady, usually slightly derogatory.
Still interesting to discover new words and idioms!
You do see it a lot in fiction, but it is so part and parcel of the stereotypical “tomboy” archetype that it always feels like a conscious decision on the part of the author. That is not to say that it never happens in real life. Girls and and boys are naturally going to experiment with those kinds of gendered words, and they do so while also coming into an understanding of what those words mean.
If you watch a lot of anime, you may have also noticed that men who are depicted as gay will often use “atashi” (the “teenage girl” word for “I” that I mentioned before). The way that this is depicted in fiction makes it a crude stereotype, but for some (not all) LBGTQIA+ people, the use of such words is a powerful way for them to assert their identity.
Anime Japanese definitely influences (and is influenced by) real Japanese. Anime characters will act in ways that real people would never dream of, but then real people will start to imitate popular anime characters.
Another thing to keep in mind, though, is formality/politeness. Men do use “watashi,” but it is one of those words that men will only use in really polite situations, while women will use it in more informal situations. A person will talk very differently when speaking with a friend or family member compared with when speaking to a work colleague or a stranger.
It is also worth looking at how people address others. The word “omae” can be extremely rude, but it can also be a sign of closeness/intimacy among close friends or family members. “Kimi” can be a friendly diminutive when used for a girl, but downright emasculating when used for a boy. “Teme” literally just means “you,” but is so insulting that it is often bleeped out on TV.
You might also hear “atai,” which is a variant of “atashi” that sounds kind of like what a toddler who has not yet mastered the “sh” sound would end up saying. This kind of thing is always very intentional whenever it is included in a script; it tells you just how cutesy the speaker perceives themselves as.
The origins of that word are also strange, as ravens are actually quite caring for their chicks. I suspect it has something to do with ravens portending death and other bad stuff. Or abandoning a child to the ravens.
Me, I tend to use Verschlimmbesserung a lot, especially when describing “improvements” made to the code base by arrogant and clueless colleagues.
