In case it wasn't clear what I've been doing this summer
other than traipsing around the Riviera and London, I've actually
been working on my thesis, a translation of a book called Paris: Quinze promenades sociologiques (English: Paris: Fifteen Sociological Walks). The
second reason I chose this master's program (the first being, well, Paris) was that,
like most master's programs abroad, it was only one year in duration—two
semesters of classes and one summer session where you write your
25,000-word-minimum thesis. Knowing what I know now, I am so glad that I went
this route for grad school, because I don’t know if I had it in me to have
done two years back at home. School has always come pretty naturally to me and
I’ve always done pretty well when I’ve tried really hard, and okay when I haven’t.
But grad school is different.
I had to work the hardest I’ve ever worked. There was no
sliding by or cutting corners. The readings were chock-full of complex ideas by
writers and translators who I’d never heard of but that my classmates seemed to have almost known on a personal level. I was the one who showed up to class, barely
having been able to get through a dense, forty-page article on what it means to
be a native informant in cultural translation, having extracted the most minute
kernels of meaning out of it, and then spending the rest of the class period trying
to keep my deer-in-the-headlights look under control because I actually didn't understand any of it. Nothing was easy. I don’t
think there was ever a single moment of complete clarity where I confidently
showed up to a class thinking I had the field of cultural theory figured out in
any sort of way. I was constantly thinking to myself, why in the world did I choose this incredibly expensive year of torture
over teaching English part-time?
Almost the entire time, I would keep prefacing that I was new
and very green to translation. But, underdog as I was, I am so
glad that I did it. I proved to myself that I could get through a year among
some truly brilliant classmates and professors who are entirely more passionate
about translation than I ever care to be. I’ve always felt completely average
in everything that I do and grad school confirmed that to me—but hey, I was
able to roll with the best of them. It’s okay and, frankly, almost a relief to
not be the absolute best at something. It reminds me of when I got to Augsburg,
intending to be a music major and realizing I was no longer the best pianist of
the bunch like I had been at home and that I was actually pretty terrible at
music theory. If I had to go back and choose a master’s program, there’s no
doubt in my mind that I would choose something different, but it is what it is.
There was something very humbling and refreshing about learning a new art form
(and translation really is an art form that Google Translate will never be able
to replicate) from scratch and sitting back and just learning from other people
who are dedicating their lives to transferring the experiences of one culture and
language into another. It’s a rigorous field that is both underappreciated and taken for
granted.
Matt came to visit me for a little over a week in the beginning
of August after his London program ended and then my friend Megan who I’ve been
friends with since our freshman year at Augsburg was in Paris for a month-long
program before heading off to Bologna, Italy for the year. Saying goodbye to
the two of them—Matt goes to school in Indiana and Megan will be in Italy until
next summer—was hard. I don’t like saying goodbye and I don’t like being left
in Paris, my favorite place in the world, without anyone to share in it with
me anymore.
The latter half of August, I devoted myself to getting
serious about my thesis and there were days where I wouldn’t leave my tiny chambre de bonne at all. I started with
the goal of only translating about three chapters of the book, and the more
time that has passed, the more I've added to it. While we were allotted just the summer to
complete our theses, no one in the history of the program has ever finished by
September. Even though I participated in commencement, I don’t officially
graduate until I’ve turned in my thesis, so I hope to submit and defend it via
Skype by December so I can graduate this semester.
On top of translating from sunrise to sunset, I moved from my
room with a view. I moved myself and my seventy-three bags of hell eight
minutes away on foot to the rue Saint-Jacques in a studio twice the size of my former room. Let me just say that you can’t really complain about moving until you’ve
singlehandedly carried a fifty-pound suitcase among other luggage down the world’s
steepest spiral staircase. It gives me a whole new respect for the donkeys in
Santorini that I once refused to ride up the 500 steps of the caldera. I feel
you, donkeys. I feel you.
So now it’s two weeks left in Paris to close up shop—cancel my
phone plan and bank account, figure out what in the hell I’m going to do with
all of my stuff and say goodbye once again to this city I’m so in love with. But somehow, someday, I'll be back. I promise.
Love,
Rachel
