1Despite recent efforts to implement the concepts of domestication and foreignization into the study of comic book translations (Borodo 2018; Van de Wiele and Pintor Iranzo 2023), the broader notion of visibility has yet to be explored within this area of research. This is surprising given both the centrality of this concept within translation studies (Freeth 2024, 7), and the position of comic book translators into Dutch, the latter having been described as “perhaps the most invisible of all book translators” (Coumans 2008, 11, my translation).
- 1 Data collected as part of the BELTRANS research project, funded by BELSPO and FWO, and led by KULeu (...)
- 2 The original French title could be translated as The Madou network. Given the context in which the (...)
2In this paper, Dutch translations of Francophone Belgian comics are analysed by taking Venuti’s concept of (in)visibility as a starting point. This notion is critically approached and broadened for the (para)textual analysis of comic translations. The subsequent section offers a sketch of Francophone Belgian comics to Dutch translation practices in the 1970s. I then discuss the gradual shifts within the paratextual visibilities of comic translators that occurred in the early 1980s through the comic magazine (Wordt vervolgd), the Dutch translation of (À Suivre). Special attention is paid to the duo formed by René van de Weijer (1947) and his wife Stanneke Wagenaar (1948), who were the main Dutch translators of this magazine and the first systematically mentioned translators of Francophone Belgian comics into Dutch according to the BELTRANS corpus.1 I also examine the reasons behind their (late) paratextual recognition. Given the limited amount of secondary literature on their translation practice, I conducted a semi-structured interview with them. Open ended questions allowed both van de Weijer and Wagenaar to elaborate on their partially shared translation practice. It should however be noted that this conversation was recorded more than five decades after the start of their translation careers and that interviews offer “insights into what participants say they believe or do, not into what they actually think or do” (Saldanha and O’Brien 2013, 170). The two respondents were interviewed simultaneously, in a conversation that delved on broad topics rather than on specific translations or comparisons with accounts from other comic translators. Finally, I apply the broadened approach of visibility to Veel liefs uit Brussel (1982), the Dutch translation of Le Réseau Madou (1982).2 According to the BELTRANS corpus, this was the first Dutch translation of a Francophone Belgian comic in which van de Weijer is mentioned by name. The Dutch translation is then compared with its 2017 reedition.
3Lawrence Venuti (1986) was among the first to theoretically develop what he termed the translator’s invisibility. Underlying this invisibility is an individualist notion of authorship. The author is therefore seen as the sole creative force behind a literary work. As a result, the translation can be no more than a paratextual commentary on the original (Genette 2002 [1987], 408), which automatically assigns the translator a lesser creative role, and therefore less freedom than the author. In other words, a translation is generally considered “acceptable” if it appears as if the source text can be read “through” the translation. However, this supposed transparency of the translation stands in stark contrast to interventions required for a so-called domesticating approach, in which the target text is made to suit the target audience.
- 3 Van Baelen (2013, 34) notes that the ‘original language’ parameter is not always filled in. As a re (...)
4In addition, literary imports are subject to literary power relations. Whilst quantitatively marginal within the central, English-speaking world from which Venuti writes (1995, 15), translations are more prominent within the European context (Venuti 2008, 11), in particular among peripheral languages like Dutch (Heilbron 2020). Centrality within a language area is equally important, especially in those cases such as Belgium where language and nation state do not overlap (Leperlier 2020). For instance, the average share of translations compared to the total book production in the Netherlands was 38.1% in 2018 (KVB Boekwerk, 2019); in France, the figure for the period 2022-2023 was 10% (Syndicat national de l’édition, 2023). Within Belgium, information for the French-speaking language area is lacking. In Flanders, the share of translations into Dutch published by Flemish publishers was 14.5%, according to the latest figures from the Boekenbank (Van Baelen 2013, 34).3 This share was also heavily dominated by comics (ibid., 35).
5Against the domesticating view of translation, Venuti, following Friedrich Schleiermacher (1838) and Antoine Berman (1985), places the concept of foreignization. This translation strategy implies an “ethnodeviant pressure on those [target-language cultural] values to register the linguistic and cultural difference of the foreign text, sending the reader abroad” (Venuti 1995, 20). According to Venuti, the aim of this perspective is not to undermine the readability of a translated text. Instead, he refers to the creation of “new conditions of readability” through, among other things, selecting less central texts or adopting translation strategies that differ from the norm in the target language (ibid., 16-19). However, by deviating from known textual translation patterns, readers are expected to show flexibility within their reading strategies, which can result in (initially) reduced readability. Starting with the second edition of his monograph, Venuti (2008, 19) emphasises that both translation strategies should be understood not as dichotomies but rather as positions on a spectrum that are subject to change. The relationship between the two concepts was again revised in the most recent version of the reference work (2018). It still implicitly involves a spectrum, but the translator can now opt for multiple, sometimes even contradictory translation approaches that are in turn situated in a “hierachical arrangement of linguistic and cultural resources in the receiving situation” (Venuti 2018, xiv). Yet the description of foreignization and domestication as ethical effects (ibid., xiii) implies a goal pursued by the translator. As a result, the approach leaves little room for ad hoc translation strategies, as well as the numerous other actors engaged in a translation (Jansen and Wegener 2013). As will be shown, the influence of the latter cannot be underestimated, especially for genres that traditionally did not enjoy a high literary status.
6To explore the effects of context and other actors on translators’ visibility, the parameters of (in)visibility must be broadened. This expansion is mainly based on the distinction introduced by Kaisa Koskinen (2000, 99) between the textual, paratextual and extratextual dimensions of translations. In addition to translation choices (textual invisibility), she distinguishes between the place of translator in forewords (paratextual invisibility) and whether or not the translator is mentioned in reviews (extratextual invisibility). Given Kathryn Batchelor’s (2018, 142) recent definition in which she describes paratextual visibility as “a consciously crafted threshold for a text which has the potential to influence the way(s) in which the text is received”, the distinction between paratextual and extratextual visibility blurs. Although differences occur between the two elements in terms of actors involved and sites where these text types appear, both types of texts show clear similarities concerning their function described above. Consequently, within this paper, I analyse the textual and paratextual dimensions of comic book translations, as well as their systematic interaction.
7The textual aspect is examined using the contextualisation proposed by Marilyn Booth and Nathalie Ramière. Booth (2008, 199) argues that similar translation choices can be either domesticating or foreignizing, depending on their target context. Moreover, visibility and the norms, expectations and values on which translation choices are based are time-bound and thus variable, as recently underlined by Klaus Kaindl (2024, 35). Looking at visibility in iconotextual media, Ramière (2019, 14) notes that for audiovisual translation, the foreignization-domestication model tends to be too rigid. She points out that translation strategies are often applied ad hoc, with co(n)textual factors playing a more important role than Venuti suggests. Ramière thus proposes to consider at least the following aspects: the text around one or several words (linguistic co-text), the interaction between text and image (polysemiotic context), cultural references and their relevance in the story, technical constraints, genre characteristics, target audience, distribution context and cultural contexts. After all, numerous contextual factors, combined with sometimes unsystematically applied translation strategies explain why domestication and foreignization are not clearly delineated concepts (Pym 1996, 171; Tymoczko 2000, 36; Baker 2007, 152; Borodo 2018, 102).
8To highlight the paratextual dimension of translations, referred to by Ramière (2019, 15) as “distributional context”, I apply Peter Freeth’s (2022; 2024) visibility continuum. Unlike Venuti, Freeth’s model does not emphasize the supposed inherently negative aspect of invisibility. Instead, it focuses on visibility as a complex and variable interaction between numerous actors within translation production and reception. To do so, Freeth positions translators on a continuum within which they can occupy multiple, sometimes contradictory positions, depending on how the translator is mentioned in the paratext. These positions range from a translator who actively participates in the creation of the paratext and is credited for doing so (participant translator), to translations that contain no references to the translator or the translated character of the text (absent translator), to a translator who is mentioned in the source text but whose participation in the creation of the paratext is not apparent (represented translator) and to a translator/translation that is referred to in the source text, without the translator being mentioned by name (implied translator).
9Hermans (2002, 11) insists that “since the translator’s manual intervention cannot simply be neutralised or erased without trace, we shall come to terms with those traces”. The difference between visibility and presence is essential here. Translators are always present in their work (and leave traces), but they can only rarely be (para)textually visible. The expression “to come to terms with” could imply that those traces are not necessarily positive. However, in this paper, imprints of a translator within a text are seen not as positive or negative but rather as intrinsically creative acts.
10Except for a few analyses that examine domestication and foreignization as translation strategies (Borodo 2018; Van de Wiele and Pintor Iranzo 2023), the concept of visibility has yet to be systematically applied to comics. This absence of secondary literature is firstly due to the late integration of comics research within the sociology of translation, already mentioned in the introduction of this thematic issue. In addition, Venuti (2008, 1) elaborated his concept for translated novels and poetry, therefore positioning himself in the “verbo-centric tradition” (Vidal Claramonte 2023, 2) of translation studies. His methodology thus cannot be applied to translation, regardless of language or culture, if that system consists of a “coordinated set of processes involved in representation and language” (Groensteen 2014, 15, my translation). This is especially true given that, in comics, verbal messages always have a visual dimension (Rota 2008, 87), as is the case for lettering (Becker 2022).
11In addition to artistic and financial reasons that do not always allow for graphic adaptions, paratextual differences occur between translated novels and comics that make the latter a medium with an inherently limited paratextual translator visibility. Susan Bassnett (1997, 80), for example, argued that there is a link between translator visibility and translator forewords. These introductions, in turn, increase the likelihood of translators appearing on the cover (Letawe 2018, 38). Yet, apart from special (re)editions, comics published in Belgium rarely contain paratextual commentaries. Translator prefaces are consequently even more unusual. The place where the translator is named is also different: if mentioned in the album, it is usually in the colophon or, to a lesser extent, on the flyleaf. Furthermore, the mention of translators is related to their professional context. As early as 1986 (180) Venuti noted the alienation of prose and poetry translators vis-à-vis their work due to professional conditions. Almost 30 years after this observation, Altenberg and Owen (2015, i) were led to similar conclusions for comics translators. Even later and more so than within prose translation, the comics translator is thus seen as part of a larger, industrial collaborative production process. In other words, A.E.B. Coldiron’s (2012) call for translator visibilities to be historically framed can be extended to the general contextualization of translation practices, especially within genres that have traditionally not been considered strictly literary.
12According to the BELTRANS corpus (version: 13/08/2024) which compiles French to Dutch and Dutch to French translation flows of works by Belgian authors published between 1970 and 2020, comics account for roughly 60% of all unidentified translators, therefore solidifying the link between literary status and (para)textual translator visibilities. Focussing solely on the category “comics”, this percentage rises to 85%, with equal percentages of unmentioned translators on either side of the intra-Belgian language border. This difference with other genre categories is all the more significant given the numeric size of comics translations within the same database (6,967 out of 15,142 translations according to the version of 13/08/2024). Although comics’ share is gradually decreasing, paratextual translator invisibility continues to be present within intra-Belgian comics translations. This is mainly related to reissues of older works for which it is not always feasible to trace back the original translator(s) (Cavens 2022). As can be seen in the visualisation below, the bulk of invisible translators are situated in the first decades of the database, especially within the French to Dutch translation flow.
Fig. 1: Number of comic translations by Belgian authors with (non-)mentioned translators between 1970 and 2020 according to source language.
Source: BELTRANS corpus, version 13.08.2024.
13The individualistic author concept offers a first explanation for this far-reaching paratextual translator invisibility, as it is also applicable to comics (Gray and Wilkins 2017; Ahmed 2017; Mauroof 2019). The creation of the Franco-Belgian tradition indeed coincided with the rise of individual authors (Berthou 2019, 1184-1185). This centralized authorship also had a clear impact on the visibility of gender. According to the corpus mentioned above, author roles (namely scriptwriters and artists) within Dutch translations of Francophone Belgian publications consisted in more than 96% of men between 1970 and 2020.
14Conversely, women played—and to a certain degree continue to play—essential roles in the production of these translations as inkers, colourists and letterers. Given the lower prestige accorded to these areas of comic production, they too regularly went unmentioned (Kohn 2016, 6). Indeed, it was not until 1971 that the first French-speaking colourist was credited in an album (Hertiman 2023). (Para)textual translator visibilities are thus part of a broader, hierarchical web of evolving recognition and visibilities of different professions within a collective production process.
15This web of visibilities is in turn linked to the broader recognition of the medium. As early as the late 1960s France started to (partially) acknowledge comics as cultural objects (Heinrich 2017)—so much so that in 1975 Luc Boltanski wrote about the formation of a French comics field. Despite some public initiatives (Kohn 2021), major publishers in French-speaking Belgium remained largely focused on younger audiences until a decade later because of financial considerations (Durand and Habrand 2018, 460-461). Although small Brussels-based bookstore-publishers such as Magic Strip or Ansaldi were already marketing reissues of interwar comics, as well as new comics aimed at a more experienced audience at the beginning of the 1970s (ibid.), these initiatives remained rather marginal, especially in the case of translations into Dutch. Editorial decisions made by large-scale Francophone Belgian comic publishers thus exerted a direct influence on the textual and paratextual visibilities of translators. Alienating translation strategies were for example avoided, given their association with “highly educated target audience[s]” (Tymoczko 2014, 211). Since children, unlike adults, are often unaware that they are reading a translation, it was also felt—by analogy with children’s literature (Lathey 2010, 198)—that there was no need to explicitly mention the translator.
16Factors internal to publishers also contributed to the limited visibility of translation and translators. For instance, the headquarters of large French-speaking Belgian comic book publishers such as Casterman were situated in a rather monocentric French context, which only partially overlapped with Belgian borders (Brems 2013, 16; Meesters and Lefèvre 2018, 265). Indeed, the geographical location of their headquarters placed them between the more central French market, and the less central but highly lucrative Dutch language market. The lion’s share of these publications was therefore translated into Dutch until the end of the 20th century (Horsten 2007, 48-49). Similarly to graphic and textual adaptations made for the French market (Peeters 2012, 226), these publishers often adopted far-reaching domesticating translation strategies, aimed primarily at larger Netherlandic audiences. This also implied the omission of paratextual references to the translated character of a comic such as the original title or the translator’s name, as it was believed these would hinder sales (van de Weijer and Wagenaar 2023).
17However, the fact that translators remained unmentioned was not necessarily regarded as problematic. Besides the readership, the collective nature of the work and the transnational literary power relations described above, this was also due to the fact that translations into Dutch were an in-house matter for Casterman (Meesters and Lefevre 2018, 266). Unlike most literary translators, comics translators were considered employees of the publisher; they systematically received translations and enjoyed a stable income. Contrary to contracts involving artists and scriptwriters, contracts concluded by these translators blurred the link between the task and its remuneration, which resulted in further erasure of authorship in translating. In addition, the decision to translate works into Dutch lay solely with the publisher, thus curtailing possible interventions by the translator. Moreover, translators could rarely count on editorial work. This was due to editors within major French-speaking Belgian comic publishers having limited knowledge of Dutch (Cavens 2022; van de Weijer and Wagenaar 2023) and the approach to Dutch translations as a step within an industrial production process, only pursued once the market proved to be highly lucrative (Moine 2020, 299-301).
- 4 Within Casterman, gradual changes had also taken place before the first issue of (À Suivre). Most n (...)
18Starting in the early 1980s, changes occurred within the paradigm of unmentioned Dutch comic translators of French-speaking Belgian works. This gradual recognition coincided with the search for different graphic and narrative perspectives within both existing and new comics magazines (and their Dutch translations), published by large-scale Francophone Belgian comics publishers. A first attempt to question rigid editorial guidelines within these publishers was made between March and October 1977 by Le Trombone illustré, a supplement of the comics magazine Spirou, published by Dupuis (Saint-Amand 2023). However, lasting changes had to wait until the launch of (À Suivre) by Casterman in October of the same year.4
19Despite the magazine’s strong French influence (Durand and Habrand 2018, 464), it had a considerable impact on comics in French-speaking Belgium. Artists and scriptwriters with diverging approaches to the medium such as Benoît Sokal, François Schuiten and Benoît Peeters and Didier Comès found in (À Suivre) a first (Belgian) publication channel. Conversely, (À Suivre) altered the outdated image of its publisher, Casterman, who acquired through these publications the reputation of a “Gallimard de la bande dessinée” (Lesage and Meesters, 2018, 335), referring to the prestigious Paris-based literary publisher. Like other French-speaking Belgian comic magazines, (À Suivre) received a Dutch sister magazine in the form of (Wordt vervolgd) (1980-1989). The periodical, by analogy with (À Suivre), stood for “adult comics with an almost literary slant” (Meesters and Lefèvre 2018, 274, my translation). However, the contents of the magazine depended heavily on the three successive editorships and the resources Casterman provided for these Dutch-language publications. Apart from a small revival from 1985 onwards, the content of (Wordt vervolgd) therefore increasingly resembled a translation of its French counterpart (ibid., 268). Incidentally, next to no Dutch-language publications from (Wordt vervolgd) were translated into French, as the magazine was mainly used to exhibit the publisher’s catalogue, rather than to include new authors (Lesage and Crucifix 2018, 304). French and, to a lesser extent, Italian comics therefore remained the benchmark for Dutch-language productions. In this sense, (Wordt vervolgd) was not only the result of transnational and intra-Belgian literary power relations but also played an active role within them. As a consequence, the magazine perpetuated unequal transnational and intra-Belgian comics relations, established in the aftermath of the Second World War (Baetens 2007).
20(Wordt vervolgd) could count on an average circulation of “only” 3,000 copies per issue during its lifetime (van de Weijer and Wagenaar 2023), in addition to competing with other Dutch comics magazines (Van Waterschoot 2013). Nevertheless, the monthly magazine systematically and accessibly marketed authors whose publications, while considered innovative, were also widely accepted. Comics translators also benefitted from this broader legitimisation.
21Yet, mentioning van de Weijer in his translations also shows the importance of biographical and historical factors, which Kaindl (2021) puts forward. As the first representative of Casterman in the Netherlands, Franke van de Weijer (re)translated Hergé’s comics until his sudden death amidst the Dutch translation of Tintin and the Picaros in 1975. His son, René, together with his mother, Tiny, kept Casterman running in the Netherlands until the arrival of a new director. In the meantime, he and his wife, Stanneke Wagenaar, translated the second part of the comic which his father had left unfinished. Later, the duo went on to work as regular translators for the Tournai-based company (van de Weijer and Wagenaar 2023). Although contextual factors such as the (partially) rising status of comics and the evolving role of translations within the comics production process (van de Weijer 2004) played a role for the visibility of translators, biographical factors were ultimately what led to the practice of mentioning comics translators being commonplace. For instance, unlike their predecessors, van de Weijer and Wagenaar did receive literary translation training. Like most literary translators of their generation (de Haan and Hofstede 2008, 26), the pair studied at the Instituut voor Vertaalwetenschappen in Amsterdam (van de Weijer 2004, 6). Consequently, their choice to translate comics meant that they introduced translation practices previously reserved for translators of prose and poetry, such as freelance work (van de Weijer and Wagenaar 2023). With van de Weijer and Wagenaar, comics translation in French-speaking Belgium therefore shifted from a monoactivité (Mouriaux 2006, 54), a single employment in which a fixed salary was paid by a publisher to translate, in this case, comics and picture books, to a multisalariat monoactif (ibid., 55), in which freelance translators simultaneously received several translation assignments, sometimes coming from several publishing houses. In addition, both translators demanded that their names be included in their translations (van de Weijer and Wagenaar 2023). This in turn ensured that according to the BELTRANS corpus they count among the first systematically mentioned comic translators of Belgian work, regardless of the translation direction. Van de Weijer was first credited in 1982 for Veel liefs uit Brussel. Although the couple corrected each other’s translations, Wagenaar focused mainly on non-fiction and children’s literature. As a result, her name only appeared in De wezel by Didier Comès two years later.
22Le Réseau Madou (Dutch: Veel liefs uit Brussel), drawn by Alain Goffin with a script by François Rivière, is set in interwar Brussels. The young protagonist, Hein Cloeckx in the Dutch translation, joins radio producer and leader of an international spy network, Eddy Goemaere, in an attempt to find a mole within his team. After the prepublication in (À Suivre) in issues 41-44 (June-September 1981) with a dossier on Brussels during the 1930s and the Clear Line drawing style in issue 42, the French language album appeared a year later. Perhaps surprisingly, the story was not prepublished in (Wordt vervolgd).
- 5 Tournai State Archives, Casterman Printing Company Archives, author’s file Goffin, letter from Chri (...)
- 6 Tournai State archives, Casterman Printing Company Archive, author’s file Goffin, Avenant au contra (...)
23Due to its a seemingly amateuristic “neo-Hergéian” drawing style, and its numerous references to the work of the Tintin’s creator, the album was not well received within the Francophone language area (Baetens 1997). This was also reflected in album sales, with Casterman still possessing roughly 7,000 unsold copies of Le Réseau Madou in October 1990.5 Moreover, the second issue in the Thierry Laudacieux series, La Mine de l’étoile (1984), was never translated into Dutch even though the contract provided for its prepublication in (Wordt vervolgd).6 Despite the existence of a fully written script, a third album of the series never rolled off Casterman’s presses.
24In 2017, French-Belgian publisher Dargaud published a reissue of the comic. Besides numerous digital graphic adaptations, a new dossier on the clear line and Brussels was added. At the same time, the publisher also issued a Dutch translation of the reworked French-language edition.
25The translator of Veel liefs uit Brussel was simultaneously present and absent within the paratext of the 1982 edition. For a comics translator, van de Weijer appeared rather prominently on the flyleaf of the comic, a position previously reserved for prose and poetry translators. However, the hierarchy within the collective production process of comics was reflected in the entry’s location and font. Thus, the translator is mentioned together with the colourist (Françoise Procureur) and the letterer (Ernst Pommerel) in a significantly smaller typeface than that of the writer and artist, the latter roles additionally being highlighted in yellow. The location of the mention is equally significant: the artist and the writer appear at the top of the page, while the translator is mentioned along with the other contributors at the bottom.
26This incipient paratextual visibility allowed comics translators, for the first time, to interpret their role as translators differently. Indeed, the mention of translators, of which van de Weijer is a forerunner, allowed translators to be more than a “médiateur ordinaire” (Casanova 2002, 17-18), an actor almost (or, in the case of comics translators, completely) invisible and stripped of consecration possibilities. Paratextual mentions therefore opened the way for comics translators as “consacrants consacrés” and “consacrants institutionnels” (ibid.), translators who can consecrate a translation through significant personal symbolic capital or an institutional link, respectively. This potential broadening of translator roles does not necessarily equate to holding them, as evidenced by Van de Weijer’s paratextual visibility in reviews of his work. For example, the review that appeared in De Telegraaf on 20 November 1982 (Wilbrink, 2), while laudatory, did not mention the fact that the comic was a translation. It therefore stands in contrast with the aims of (Wordt vervolgd), given its intention to ensure broader accessibility to many well-known French comics (“Wordt vervolgd: persbericht”).
27Limited visibility within reviews was nothing new, even for prose and poetry translators (Vanderschelden 2000, 282; Fawcett 2000, 305). Nonetheless, the paratextual absence of comics translators was further reinforced by the elements that defined their position. Indeed, van de Weijer’s name was mainly associated with comics, published by Casterman and prepublished in (Wordt vervolgd). Although the French-language authors he brought into Dutch enjoyed a certain prestige in the source context, the position of comics as a legitimate cultural medium was still under construction in the Dutch-speaking context of the 1980s (Van Waterschoot 2013). Casterman’s comic book catalogue furthermore had been aimed at younger audiences for decades until shortly before the publication of Veel liefs uit Brussel.
28Even in the publisher’s internal dealings, the paratextual visibility of the comic translator was limited. Unlike artists and writers, René van de Weijer did not receive a physical contract for the translations he did for Casterman (van de Weijer and Wagenaar 2023). The legal, financial and even methodological implications of this ambiguous position are far-reaching. For instance, it is not clear who holds the rights to the translations entrusted to van de Weijer. In addition, unlike actors who were considered “authors”, the translator was paid only once and did not receive royalties regardless of the success of the Dutch translation. Moreover, the absence of contracts, combined with the fact that translations made by the couple for Casterman were handed over in person or passed on by phone until the 1990s (van de Weijer and Wagenaar 2023) means that van de Weijer’s visibility within the Casterman archives is limited. Even within Casterman’s sales accounts, I found that the Dutch translation was long referred to as “Réseau Madou NL”.
29Looking at the translator’s textual visibilities, one observes that the translator can simultaneously adopt diverging and sometimes even contradictory positions depending on the contextual factor taken as a starting point. Although this tension is present in numerous translations, Veel liefs uit Brussel stands out for the extent to which it comes to the fore. As Baetens notes in his close reading of the comic (1997, 93-94), both the first word and the landscape depicted in the first frame function as metonymy for the city of Brussels. The situatedness of the comic is also expressed through numerous realia. When translated into Dutch, these elements specific to the source context create a systematic tension between what Grit (2010, 192-193) refers to as maintaining translations (same word(s) in source and target text), loan translations (the source language expression is translated verbatim), adaptations (target language expression takes centre stage) and, to a lesser extent, approximations (more or less similar translation).
- 7 Brussels kids. The English translations of the discussed terms will be given in footnotes.
- 8 “Sheesh”.
- 9 “Hi, Hein”.
30These translation practices are usually associated with both domesticating and alienating translation strategies. Within Veel liefs uit Brussel (1982), however, they give evidence of a far-reaching domesticating approach within a pluricentric Dutch-speaking language area. Indeed, the translation strategies create a noticeable tension between the context in which the story is set (Brussels in the late 1930s) and the language variant used by the translator and imposed by the publisher (Netherlandic Dutch, as opposed to the Flemish variant). For instance, in the Dutch-language version, the protagonist is a Brussels boy with the rather Dutch-sounding name Hein Cloeckx, reading a Belgian comic series whose title refers to “Quick & Flupke” (Goffin and Rivière 1982b, 2), Hergés’ “gamins de Bruxelles”7. He uses the Dutch exclamation ‘Tjeeminee’8 (ibid., 29) to express his amazement and is addressed using the Netherlandic phrase “Ha, die Hein”9 (ibid., 2). Furthermore—except for one character who already has a Dutch-sounding name (Alfred van Peperbol)—all characters are given Dutchified names. Examples include borrowed translations of French-sounding names in which, for example, “Marie-Véronique De Flandres” is translated by “Maria-Veronica van Vlaanderen”, the last name of the character referring in both cases to the Dutch-speaking part of Belgium. A further example includes referring to an aspect of a given name, for instance the name “Heiligers” (“heilig” meaning “holy” in Dutch) is a translation of the surname “Toussaint”, the French name for the holiday All Saints’ Day. Finally, the translator uses adaptations of (sur)names that no longer show any link with the French version, such as “Delaive” which became “Flops”.
31The Belgian language of these characters is also neutralised in the translation through approximations. For example, in the speech balloon of a studio collaborator of Eddy Goemaere, the Belgian expression “c’est un fameux castard” (Goffin and Rivière 1982a, 27) is translated by the more widespread expression “die kan er wat van” (Goffin and Rivière 1982b, 27), both referring to a person with a particular skillset. In addition, the fragments of letters, newspapers and books that appear in the comic are systematically translated into Dutch. Consequently, the Dutch version of the comic contains both domesticating elements for Dutch readers and alienating aspects for Flemish readers. Although this relationship applies to most of the translation (see below), there are times where it is deviated from. For example, I.N.R. as an abbreviation for the former Belgian Institut National Radiophonique is translated in the Dutch version by the Flemish name of the institute: N.R.I. (Goffin and Rivière 1982b, 2, 26).
32The same tension is present in the translation of geographical references and local language. The reference to “Bruxelles Midi” (Goffin and Rivière 1982a, 18), the Brussels South train station, for example, becomes “Station Zuid” (Goffin and Rivière 1982b, 18), a formulation more common in the Netherlands. In Belgium, “Brussel Zuid” or even “Zuidstation” are more widespread. In turn, other place names are taken literally (maintaining translation) or translated verbatim (loan translation) while a Dutch translation did exist. Examples include “Schaerbeek” (Goffin and Rivière 1982b, 44) and “Maelbeek” (ibid., 11, 15, 20) instead of the standard Dutch translations “Schaarbeek” and “Maalbeek”. In addition, “Sablonplein” (ibid., 33) is used as a literal translation of Brussels’ “place du Sablon” instead of “Zavel”. Although Flemish readers could likely figure out the meaning of the translation given the context in which they occur, these translation choices still create an alienating effect.
- 10 Tournai State Archives, Casterman printer’s archive, author’s file Alain Goffin, comptes d’auteur, (...)
33A similar effect occurs when translating cultural references specifically linked to the language of the place where the story is set. For Le Réseau Madou, this involves the Brussels word “ket”, designating in this case the young boy who is the protagonist of the story. While the original French-language version offers the colloquial but widely used “gamin” as an explanation in a footnote (Goffin and Rivière 1982a, 42), the Dutch translation uses “jochie” (Goffin and Rivière 1982b, 42). Although both terms can be translated as “young boy”, the latter is rarely used outside the Netherlands. The language variant utilized within these translations was however not only a consequence of van de Weijer’s own linguistic identity. Indeed, until the 1990s the Northern Dutch idiom was the standard for Dutch comic book translations by Casterman (van de Weijer and Wagenaar 2023). Nonetheless, one can wonder how effective these interventions were, especially in the context of comics explicitly set in Belgium. What’s more, the sales figures of Veel lief suit Brussel were significantly higher in Flanders (14,275 units) than in the Netherlands (4,262 units).10
34Haptic-material aspects of the comic were also adapted to a Dutch-speaking target audience. For instance, the hard cover of the French version was exchanged for a soft cover that is much more frequently used for comics in the Dutch-speaking language area (Baetens 2007). The Dutch text in the speech balloons was also typeset so that no blank spaces were created that might indicate the translated nature of the comic. One area where the translated aspect of the comic does emerge is onomatopoeia. Only one sound imitation is used in the comic book: the French-language “CR” for a creaking sound which remained unchanged in the Dutch-language version (Goffin and Rivière 1982b, 21). This is probably due to technical difficulties, as the change to “KR” would have required additional graphic work and thus further financial costs.
35As in the first edition, the translator is mentioned in the paratext. Yet, van de Weijer’s name is no longer on the flyleaf but in the colophon on the penultimate page. Consequently, the translator is still represented but the move to a more usual place for comic translator does make him less visible than in the previous version. The paratextual visibility of the translator also remained rather limited in reviews. Only one critique indirectly mentions that it is a translation (Moerenhout 2017), with others failing to address this aspect (see e.g. Moors 2017; Meesters 2017).
36As is the custom with reissues of comics (Zanettin 2008, 21), numerous textual and graphic changes were made for the 2017 retranslation. In addition to a digital re-colouring and redrawing, these changes also brought out the Brussels background against which the story is set. The 2017 version does this by filling in numerous signs, left blank in the first edition. These range from Belgian number plates (Goffin and Rivière 2017a, 25) to signs denoting, among other things, Brussels tram routes (ibid., 7). In the new Dutch version, those references remain largely untranslated (Goffin and Rivière 2017b, 6, 7, 25), as do the newspaper articles (ibid., 17, 37, 45). Not only do the untranslated text passages benefit the couleur locale, they also assume that readers of the translation are familiar with the source language context. References to Belgium are also made more explicit. In the 1982 translation, Eddy Goemaere, the radio presenter and leader of an international spy network, reads the newspaper “OUR COUNTRY” (Goffin and Rivière 1982b, 35, my translation, capitalized in original) while in the latest Dutch-language version he browses “THE PROUD BELGIAN” (Goffin and Rivière 2017b, 43, my translation, capitalized in original).
- 11 “Dammit”.
- 12 “Little boy”.
37In addition, in the 2017 Dutch version, most Northern Dutch words and names were systematically replaced by more neutral or—in the case of Belgian references—Flemish alternatives. In both cases, these are adaptations, but their nature creates clear changes within the expected target audience. As an example, the Dutch “padvinder” (Goffin and Rivière 1982b, 29) to designate a boy scout is replaced by the Flemish “verkenner” (Goffin and Rivière 2017b, 35), the Dutch first name Hein is replaced by the more common Thierry in the 2017 version, “Tjeeminee” (Goffin and Rivière 1982b, 29) is exchanged for the more neutral “Verdorie”11 (Goffin and Rivière 2017b, 35), the explanation for “ket” is no longer “jochie” (Goffin and Rivière 1982b, 42) but the more widespread “jongen”12 (Goffin and Rivière 2017b, 50), and the taxi driver, who also uses the preceding word, no longer uses “vriend” but the Flemish diminutive “vriendeke” to refer to the protagonist as “buddy”. In this sense, these adaptations respond to the first element a comic translator should pay attention to, according to Alice Ray (2016, 62): the idiolect of the characters. Among other things, the latest Dutch-language edition thus addresses the tension from the first issue between a Brussels-based main character and his rather Northern Dutch-sounding language and name. In addition, the 2017 version replaces geographic names that van de Weijer took verbatim from French with their official Dutch translation.
38Though limited in number, the adaptations in the latest version of Veel liefs uit Brussel, like re-translations (Massardier-Kenney 2015, 81), exert a clear influence on the afterlife of this translation. The latest translation is still domesticating but this time for a Flemish audience. Domesticating, moreover, does not necessarily imply translating everything (although this was the case in the 1982 version). By leaving room for French in the latest Dutch-language version, the translation indeed reflects the multilingual reality of the Belgian capital during the interwar period (Brems 2013). The 2015 translation also implies more mature audiences, given the dossier on Belgian comics and Brussels, as well as material changes. The matte cardboard cover and linen spine of the new French edition not only supported the prestigious aspect of the comic but also placed the comic book in line with early Tintin albums that used a similar design. A hard cover was also introduced for the Dutch version, which within that language area is often associated with more prestigious editions. Apart from making this comic available once again, the republication of the translation with (para)textual adaptations thus aimed at enhancing the status of this comic in the Dutch-speaking world, reflecting its current recognition in French-speaking circles as a classic of the renaissance of the clear line (Couvreur 13/01/2017, 33). In this sense, the dossier not only ensures that the comic is addressed to an older and nostalgic readership (Meesters 2017) but also that the work and, by extension, its creators are placed within the clear-line tradition of consecrated comic artists such as Hergé, Joost Swarte and Edgar Jacobs.
- 13 van der Heide 19/02/2024.
- 14 van Muijlwijk 08/03/2024.
39Lastly, the reissue of Veel liefs uit Brussels proves that the responsibility for (para)textual visibility of translators does not lie solely with the translator. For example, van de Weijer sold his translation rights for the 2017 republication (van de Weijer and Wagenaar 2023). Despite the mention of his name in the colophon of the newest edition, it was not him but Dargaud editor Ryun Reuchamps who made linguistic adaptations (Reuchamps 12/02/2024). Furthermore, by including only van de Weijer in the colophon, the paratext suggests that he alone was responsible for the translation. However, the Dutch translation of the dossier was entrusted to van der Heide Producties, the translation company of “Asterix” translator Frits van der Heide, who was responsible for numerous Dargaud translations until 201613. However, as his translations were often perceived as “too Dutch”, the translation assignment was eventually fulfilled by Brussels-based translator Margreet van Muijlwijk.14 Taking into account the translation of the dossier added to the new edition, this translated comic is also an example of ghost translation (Solum 2015).
40The scant attention for comics within translation studies, as well as the focus of Venuti’s model on poetry and novels meant that up until now comics translators remained largely invisible in research on translator visibilities. By analyzing the (para)textual translator visibilities of René van de Weijer, we saw how comic translators found themselves in an evolving web of visibilities, influenced by biographical factors, genre-internal evolutions, as well as trans- and intra-national literary power relations. Van de Weijer and Wagenaars translator training, in combination with the (partial) French re-evaluation of comics as a cultural medium starting in the late 1960s and the launch of (À Suivre)/(Wordt vervolgd) by Casterman almost a decade later thus led the couple to pave the way for paratextual comic translator visibility within the Belgian context. Despite these changes, textual visibility remained limited. In addition, the new edition of the comic is an example of changing intralingual power relations, ghost translation and the still limited space dedicated to translation and translators in reviews. All these elements demonstrate that the (para)textual visibility of comic translators and consequently their position as fully-fledged actors within literary exchanges are still evolving.