There's a Russian word that appears six times in the first four chapters of Crime and Punishment. No English translator has ever understood it correctly.
As an anthropologist, this essay resonated deeply with me.
What struck me is that the difficulty of translating toska is not simply a problem to be solved. In fieldwork, I’ve often found that the places where translation fails are the places where understanding begins.
When a word translates easily, we learn relatively little. But when speakers keep reaching for examples, metaphors, stories, and approximations—and still feel that something essential has been missed—we may have encountered a concept embedded in an entire way of experiencing the world.
Anthropologists often discover that the challenge is not finding the right word in English. The challenge is that the word exists within a larger semantic and cultural structure that has no direct equivalent. A translation can capture the dictionary meaning while losing the world that produced it.
What I especially appreciated about your discussion of toska is that it points beyond Russian literature to a broader question: what do we learn from concepts that resist translation? Sometimes those “untranslatable” words are among the most valuable clues a culture gives us about itself. They reveal distinctions, experiences, and forms of life that our own language may not have taught us to notice.
In that sense, the translation failure is not an obstacle. It is ethnographic data.
Frankly, I don't even like "the old woman". It sounds more ..benign? More neural. "Old woman" While "старуха" carries within a slightly different attitude- not always, of course, but often. For sure in "Crime and Punishment"
Not that I'd know what to propose instead, - that's a different matter.
A very interesting post, Liza. In Stephen Pearl's translation of Oblomov, he did the very thing you suggest, choosing to transliterate rather than translate Oblomovshchina. It's a bold choice, but very possibly the best choice.
What an excellent discussion that covers so much ground. So much of this novel is about the humiliation of despair which remains alienated even from the person, much like that bird and the tear-like rain streaking the window.
Is there any possible connection between that toska and the doomed titular character of the Sardou play (and subsequent Puccini opera) La Tosca? Sardou was certainly influenced by Turgenev and, while I haven't read Turgenev in Russian, it seems likely the word would arise.....
For completeness, "Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen" is a setting of Friedrich Rucker
I majored in Russian literature in order to read dostovsky in the original and I remember that toska is a very important word. I would translate it as ennui.
Ennui (pronounced ahn-WEE) is a feeling of weariness, boredom, dissatisfaction, or listlessness that comes from finding life uninteresting, repetitive, or lacking meaning.
It's more than just being bored for an afternoon. Ennui is often a deeper sense that:
Nothing seems exciting.
Activities that used to be enjoyable feel empty.
You feel mentally or emotionally unengaged.
Life seems monotonous or purposeless.
Example:
After years of doing the same job every day, he felt a growing sense of ennui and began looking for new challenges.
The word comes from French, where it literally means "boredom" or "weariness."
Difference between boredom and ennui:
Boredom: "I have nothing to do right now."
Ennui: "Even if I had something to do, it all feels meaningless."
Synonyms include:
Listlessness
Apathy
Disillusionment
Weariness
World-weariness
Malaise
A classic example in literature is a wealthy person who has everything they need materially but still feels dissatisfied and restless because life lacks purpose or challenge.
It would be interesting and perhaps helpful or revealing to see what choices are made in non-English translations. This sounds somewhat like the Portuguese "saudade" (widely said to be untranslatable) or the Spanish "añoranza."
As an anthropologist, this essay resonated deeply with me.
What struck me is that the difficulty of translating toska is not simply a problem to be solved. In fieldwork, I’ve often found that the places where translation fails are the places where understanding begins.
When a word translates easily, we learn relatively little. But when speakers keep reaching for examples, metaphors, stories, and approximations—and still feel that something essential has been missed—we may have encountered a concept embedded in an entire way of experiencing the world.
Anthropologists often discover that the challenge is not finding the right word in English. The challenge is that the word exists within a larger semantic and cultural structure that has no direct equivalent. A translation can capture the dictionary meaning while losing the world that produced it.
What I especially appreciated about your discussion of toska is that it points beyond Russian literature to a broader question: what do we learn from concepts that resist translation? Sometimes those “untranslatable” words are among the most valuable clues a culture gives us about itself. They reveal distinctions, experiences, and forms of life that our own language may not have taught us to notice.
In that sense, the translation failure is not an obstacle. It is ethnographic data.
Thank you for a thoughtful piece.
And thank you for an insightful comment.
Frankly, I don't even like "the old woman". It sounds more ..benign? More neural. "Old woman" While "старуха" carries within a slightly different attitude- not always, of course, but often. For sure in "Crime and Punishment"
Not that I'd know what to propose instead, - that's a different matter.
A very interesting post, Liza. In Stephen Pearl's translation of Oblomov, he did the very thing you suggest, choosing to transliterate rather than translate Oblomovshchina. It's a bold choice, but very possibly the best choice.
Yes, I like your solution.
The Kindle version of Garnett is currently 99 cents.
What an excellent discussion that covers so much ground. So much of this novel is about the humiliation of despair which remains alienated even from the person, much like that bird and the tear-like rain streaking the window.
Thank you, Liza
That's fascinating.
Is there any possible connection between that toska and the doomed titular character of the Sardou play (and subsequent Puccini opera) La Tosca? Sardou was certainly influenced by Turgenev and, while I haven't read Turgenev in Russian, it seems likely the word would arise.....
For completeness, "Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen" is a setting of Friedrich Rucker
I majored in Russian literature in order to read dostovsky in the original and I remember that toska is a very important word. I would translate it as ennui.
Ennui (pronounced ahn-WEE) is a feeling of weariness, boredom, dissatisfaction, or listlessness that comes from finding life uninteresting, repetitive, or lacking meaning.
It's more than just being bored for an afternoon. Ennui is often a deeper sense that:
Nothing seems exciting.
Activities that used to be enjoyable feel empty.
You feel mentally or emotionally unengaged.
Life seems monotonous or purposeless.
Example:
After years of doing the same job every day, he felt a growing sense of ennui and began looking for new challenges.
The word comes from French, where it literally means "boredom" or "weariness."
Difference between boredom and ennui:
Boredom: "I have nothing to do right now."
Ennui: "Even if I had something to do, it all feels meaningless."
Synonyms include:
Listlessness
Apathy
Disillusionment
Weariness
World-weariness
Malaise
A classic example in literature is a wealthy person who has everything they need materially but still feels dissatisfied and restless because life lacks purpose or challenge.
It would be interesting and perhaps helpful or revealing to see what choices are made in non-English translations. This sounds somewhat like the Portuguese "saudade" (widely said to be untranslatable) or the Spanish "añoranza."
or "hiraetz", from what I gathered