Review of Simone de Beauvoir: The Making of an Intellectual Woman, by Toril Moi. Oxford U.P., 2008 [Second Edition].
The second edition of Toril Moi’s text, Simone de Beauvoir: The Making of an Intellectual Woman, appends a lengthy introduction to the original 1993 text. Here, Moi continues her examination of Beauvoir’s position as a monumental figure in 20th century French thought. Moi’s new introduction includes discussions of recently translated correspondence between Beauvoir and Nelson Algren, as well as a volume of student diaries from the period before Beauvoir began to study for her agrégation examinations at the Sorbonne. The revisiting of her original text, and the inclusion of this new primary source material, suggests that Moi’s portrait of Beauvoir is not to be confused with an examination of Beauvoir’s work as a collection of “intellectual pursuits” or an elaboration of an ‘essential’ “thinking Beauvoir” to be encountered through a progression of her ideas over the years. Rather, it is very much an unfinished project. Moi characterizes ‘traditional’ biography as “narrative and linear, [arguing] in terms of origins and finalities… [that] seeks to disclose an original identity” (29), and thus she proceeds to reject these generic methodological limitations in favour of personal genealogy. As a result, Moi’s reissued text contributes to an ongoing reconstitution of Beauvoir as a “complex effect” emergent from her textual legacy, rather than a singular analytic object to be situated in her appropriate historical frame (28). I take this methodological injunction as guidance, as I evaluate both the second edition of this text and its political significance in light of the new English translation of Beauvoir’s The Second Sex.
Writing in 1993, Moi documented how Beauvoir’s political and intellectual contributions were marginalized primarily through the exclusionary norms of the French literary tradition, and subsequently by Anglo-American feminist responses to the deeply flawed English translation of The Second Sex. The most prominent characterizations of Beauvoir’s work were established along two primary lines: the “naïve woman” and the “false intellectual” (110-111). These essentializing claims about the quality and political import of Beauvoir’s work resulted in the construction of a mythological chimera—‘Simone de Beauvoir’ as a myth and a monster, characterizations that preoccupied potential readers and displaced their time and attention from the content of her contributions in favour of a more insidious, and derogatory, debate about the legitimacy of her public voice. [1] The implicit correlative to this savaging of Beauvoir in the public sphere was also an undermining of the right of all women to intellectual activity – and particularly to philosophy – in the public sphere (111-112). An attempt to bring down the ‘best’ among intellectual women is an attempt to ensure that the ‘worst’ women, intellectual or otherwise, will not attempt entry into public discourse. Those who do make the attempt to breach these boundaries of patriarchal oppression are “truly naïve”: such winking criticism is meant to undermine the naïve woman who does not realize when she is speaking out of her ‘proper’ place. Renewed encounters with such topoi of the “naïve woman” and “false intellectual” might find us contemplating our discomfiting acquaintance with these mythologized creatures, as they are still commonplace designations for women that we consider intellectual, political, or otherwise public figures today. Approaching an examination of Beauvoir’s textual legacy allows us to read Moi’s text through, and in dialogue, with political concerns around the public engagement of intellectual women today.
Moi’s personal genealogy observes that “[the] intertextual network of fictional, philosophical, autobiographical and epistolary texts that she left us is our Simone de Beauvoir” (26). The correlative of this observation is that mistranslation would inevitably lead to an incomplete portrait of Beauvoir and her work. More generally, bad translations may actually serve to exclude a woman’s philosophical or intellectual contributions, by distorting the content of her speech, or displacing critical engagement from her content to her personality. What follows may seem to be an extraneous discussion about the pitfalls that befell the translation of The Second Sex into English. However, I believe the project of personal genealogy is supplemented and appended by exactly these kinds of discussions that trace the lifetime of an author’s body of work beyond the timeframe of the author’s own life.
The work of translation is not free from ideological nuances. If we can borrow Nietzsche’s example for a moment, we are given a good example of the ways in which competent translation can vastly reverse the reception of a thinker’s work. Post-WWII, Nietzsche’s marginalization as a philosopher was so effectively remediated by the efforts of Walter Kaufmann and R.J. Hollingdale that he is now very widely read and critically well-received in English-reading circles. Granted, Beauvoir’s work emerges in a different historical context and under the auspices of a different philosophical and literary tradition than Nietzsche’s. However, we may still draw some important observations for our purposes. Possibly excused through the mode of romanticist excess, the bombastic style and brilliant self-observing acuity of Nietzsche’s auto-erotic machismo does not undermine the legitimacy of his contributions to philosophical thinking. And yet time and again, we find Beauvoir lambasted for having an ‘overemotional’ style, pilloried for exploring the minutiae of her psychological life, and mocked for her confessional tone (95). Why would such a stylistic approach be acceptable for the sober work of philosophical thinking on the one hand, and yet an inappropriate source of literary inspiration on the other? If we consider the history of Beauvoir’s translation into English, and the treatment of The Second Sex in particular, an especially discouraging picture emerges.
Without a question, the limitations imposed by shoddy translation ensured that Beauvoir’s most influential philosophical work ‘spoke’ through an unacceptably distorted voice for more than fifty years. Robert Parshley’s inadequacies in translating philosophical material and his insufficient grasp of French grammar and syntax meant that Beauvoir’s text lost much of its argumentative coherence and incisive observations in translation, ultimately obfuscating its purpose. In the Parshley translation, the theoretical developments of The Second Sex seem truncated or inconsistent, and too long ‘despite’ the arbitrary abridgment of the text (131).[2] Certainly such a translation would make Beauvoir vulnerable to charges of naïveté and undeserved intellectual esteem, particularly if readers had no access to the original French. In this light, we might better understand the criticisms of Beauvoir made by Anglophone feminists in the 1980s.
The political remedy to this problem would appear to be obvious: if there was only to be one English translation, it ought to be an excellent translation, especially in light of the much-criticized status of the old one. [3] Failing to pursue the best possible translation should be considered as a repetition of the initial marginalization of Beauvoir’s text in English. This continues to misrepresent and delegitimize Beauvoir’s work, and contributes in turn to the undermining of other women’s philosophical contributions in the public sphere. Yet the flaws in the Parshley translation, pointed out repeatedly by feminist scholars over more than three decades, were not addressed with any seriousness by Knopf/Vintage until the publishing house announced a new translation to be completed for 2009. [4] In light of the questions that Moi introduces around the ‘public place’ of intellectual women, we would not be amiss in including the reception of the new translation in the personal genealogy of Beauvoir’s intellectual legacy. Unfortunately, one of the most obvious conclusions is that not much has changed. Moi’s recent review of the new translation of The Second Sex in The London Review of Books gives a comprehensive survey of the 2009 edition in relation not only to the original French, but also to the critiques that were pointed out by feminist scholars since the early part of the 1980s. She expresses her relief that previously-abridged sections have been restored, but unequivocally states her disappointment in the translation overall: “the obsessive literalism and countless errors make it no more reliable, and far less readable than Parshley” (Moi, 2009). In 2009, we echo the question that has been asked since Margaret Simons raised in 1983: why would such an influential feminist text be treated so dismissively?
That once again, enthusiastic translators were found who did not have a history of translation of philosophical or theoretical texts were tasked with the production of the only authorized English edition is telling. It is my hope that this discussion of the history of Beauvoir’s translation into English has provided us with an interesting perspective on the political potential of intellectual biography and personal genealogy as creative, supplemental and even remedial writing. Moi’s reissued text suggests how mechanisms of patriarchal marginalization undermine the contributions of intellectual women, and moreover do not need active allies. As the English life of The Second Sex demonstrates, they require only that her public contributions be milled through misrepresentative translation. A personal genealogy of Simone de Beauvoir is, as an examination of Moi’s text reveals, an intensely political project seeking to map in some small way the intellectual, political and philosophical terrain occupied by women living under patriarchy. This project, which is both methodological and sociohistorical, extends the purview of writing about a single individual to an examination of the promiscuous reincarnations of that individual’s various textual lives.
Notes
[1] Moi believes that for Beauvoir, “myths are fundamentally false representations of reality, not because they always get the facts wrong, but because they proclaim the existence of eternal, immutable and non-contingent essences” (209, emphasis mine). Establishing essentialisms – creating mythologies – about human identities would be anathemic to Beauvoir’s existentialist sensibilities which conceived of human existence as predicated on absolute freedom from essentialism. It is sadly ironic, then, that Beauvoir has been mythologized to the point of obscuring her intellectual contributions, the philosophical underpinnings of which would be diametrically opposed to such a representation.
[2] Over 15% of the original French text was cut in Parshley’s translation (Moi 2002: 108).
[3] Knopf/Vintage owns the exclusive rights to publish The Second Sex in English; their copyright does not expire until 2056, 70 years after Beauvoir’s death. Until then, no other publisher may produce an English translation of the work (Moi 2002: 107).
[4] In 1983, Margaret Simons published an article strongly criticizing the Knopf/Vintage translation of The Second Sex. What is more, she also contacted Beauvoir about the insufficiencies of this translation. Beauvoir’s letter in response to Simons’ work is telling for our discussion of translation: “I was dismayed to learn the extent to which Mr. Parshley misrepresented me. I wish with all my heart that you will be able to publish a new translation” (Simons 1983:564).
Works Cited
Moi, Toril. (2009) “The Adulteress Wife.” London Review of Books 32.3 (December). Online
Simone de Beauvoir: The Making of an Intellectual Woman
Review of Simone de Beauvoir: The Making of an Intellectual Woman, by Toril Moi. Oxford U.P., 2008 [Second Edition].
The second edition of Toril Moi’s text, Simone de Beauvoir: The Making of an Intellectual Woman, appends a lengthy introduction to the original 1993 text. Here, Moi continues her examination of Beauvoir’s position as a monumental figure in 20th century French thought. Moi’s new introduction includes discussions of recently translated correspondence between Beauvoir and Nelson Algren, as well as a volume of student diaries from the period before Beauvoir began to study for her agrégation examinations at the Sorbonne. The revisiting of her original text, and the inclusion of this new primary source material, suggests that Moi’s portrait of Beauvoir is not to be confused with an examination of Beauvoir’s work as a collection of “intellectual pursuits” or an elaboration of an ‘essential’ “thinking Beauvoir” to be encountered through a progression of her ideas over the years. Rather, it is very much an unfinished project. Moi characterizes ‘traditional’ biography as “narrative and linear, [arguing] in terms of origins and finalities… [that] seeks to disclose an original identity” (29), and thus she proceeds to reject these generic methodological limitations in favour of personal genealogy. As a result, Moi’s reissued text contributes to an ongoing reconstitution of Beauvoir as a “complex effect” emergent from her textual legacy, rather than a singular analytic object to be situated in her appropriate historical frame (28). I take this methodological injunction as guidance, as I evaluate both the second edition of this text and its political significance in light of the new English translation of Beauvoir’s The Second Sex.
Writing in 1993, Moi documented how Beauvoir’s political and intellectual contributions were marginalized primarily through the exclusionary norms of the French literary tradition, and subsequently by Anglo-American feminist responses to the deeply flawed English translation of The Second Sex. The most prominent characterizations of Beauvoir’s work were established along two primary lines: the “naïve woman” and the “false intellectual” (110-111). These essentializing claims about the quality and political import of Beauvoir’s work resulted in the construction of a mythological chimera—‘Simone de Beauvoir’ as a myth and a monster, characterizations that preoccupied potential readers and displaced their time and attention from the content of her contributions in favour of a more insidious, and derogatory, debate about the legitimacy of her public voice. [1] The implicit correlative to this savaging of Beauvoir in the public sphere was also an undermining of the right of all women to intellectual activity – and particularly to philosophy – in the public sphere (111-112). An attempt to bring down the ‘best’ among intellectual women is an attempt to ensure that the ‘worst’ women, intellectual or otherwise, will not attempt entry into public discourse. Those who do make the attempt to breach these boundaries of patriarchal oppression are “truly naïve”: such winking criticism is meant to undermine the naïve woman who does not realize when she is speaking out of her ‘proper’ place. Renewed encounters with such topoi of the “naïve woman” and “false intellectual” might find us contemplating our discomfiting acquaintance with these mythologized creatures, as they are still commonplace designations for women that we consider intellectual, political, or otherwise public figures today. Approaching an examination of Beauvoir’s textual legacy allows us to read Moi’s text through, and in dialogue, with political concerns around the public engagement of intellectual women today.
Moi’s personal genealogy observes that “[the] intertextual network of fictional, philosophical, autobiographical and epistolary texts that she left us is our Simone de Beauvoir” (26). The correlative of this observation is that mistranslation would inevitably lead to an incomplete portrait of Beauvoir and her work. More generally, bad translations may actually serve to exclude a woman’s philosophical or intellectual contributions, by distorting the content of her speech, or displacing critical engagement from her content to her personality. What follows may seem to be an extraneous discussion about the pitfalls that befell the translation of The Second Sex into English. However, I believe the project of personal genealogy is supplemented and appended by exactly these kinds of discussions that trace the lifetime of an author’s body of work beyond the timeframe of the author’s own life.
The work of translation is not free from ideological nuances. If we can borrow Nietzsche’s example for a moment, we are given a good example of the ways in which competent translation can vastly reverse the reception of a thinker’s work. Post-WWII, Nietzsche’s marginalization as a philosopher was so effectively remediated by the efforts of Walter Kaufmann and R.J. Hollingdale that he is now very widely read and critically well-received in English-reading circles. Granted, Beauvoir’s work emerges in a different historical context and under the auspices of a different philosophical and literary tradition than Nietzsche’s. However, we may still draw some important observations for our purposes. Possibly excused through the mode of romanticist excess, the bombastic style and brilliant self-observing acuity of Nietzsche’s auto-erotic machismo does not undermine the legitimacy of his contributions to philosophical thinking. And yet time and again, we find Beauvoir lambasted for having an ‘overemotional’ style, pilloried for exploring the minutiae of her psychological life, and mocked for her confessional tone (95). Why would such a stylistic approach be acceptable for the sober work of philosophical thinking on the one hand, and yet an inappropriate source of literary inspiration on the other? If we consider the history of Beauvoir’s translation into English, and the treatment of The Second Sex in particular, an especially discouraging picture emerges.
Without a question, the limitations imposed by shoddy translation ensured that Beauvoir’s most influential philosophical work ‘spoke’ through an unacceptably distorted voice for more than fifty years. Robert Parshley’s inadequacies in translating philosophical material and his insufficient grasp of French grammar and syntax meant that Beauvoir’s text lost much of its argumentative coherence and incisive observations in translation, ultimately obfuscating its purpose. In the Parshley translation, the theoretical developments of The Second Sex seem truncated or inconsistent, and too long ‘despite’ the arbitrary abridgment of the text (131).[2] Certainly such a translation would make Beauvoir vulnerable to charges of naïveté and undeserved intellectual esteem, particularly if readers had no access to the original French. In this light, we might better understand the criticisms of Beauvoir made by Anglophone feminists in the 1980s.
The political remedy to this problem would appear to be obvious: if there was only to be one English translation, it ought to be an excellent translation, especially in light of the much-criticized status of the old one. [3] Failing to pursue the best possible translation should be considered as a repetition of the initial marginalization of Beauvoir’s text in English. This continues to misrepresent and delegitimize Beauvoir’s work, and contributes in turn to the undermining of other women’s philosophical contributions in the public sphere. Yet the flaws in the Parshley translation, pointed out repeatedly by feminist scholars over more than three decades, were not addressed with any seriousness by Knopf/Vintage until the publishing house announced a new translation to be completed for 2009. [4] In light of the questions that Moi introduces around the ‘public place’ of intellectual women, we would not be amiss in including the reception of the new translation in the personal genealogy of Beauvoir’s intellectual legacy. Unfortunately, one of the most obvious conclusions is that not much has changed. Moi’s recent review of the new translation of The Second Sex in The London Review of Books gives a comprehensive survey of the 2009 edition in relation not only to the original French, but also to the critiques that were pointed out by feminist scholars since the early part of the 1980s. She expresses her relief that previously-abridged sections have been restored, but unequivocally states her disappointment in the translation overall: “the obsessive literalism and countless errors make it no more reliable, and far less readable than Parshley” (Moi, 2009). In 2009, we echo the question that has been asked since Margaret Simons raised in 1983: why would such an influential feminist text be treated so dismissively?
That once again, enthusiastic translators were found who did not have a history of translation of philosophical or theoretical texts were tasked with the production of the only authorized English edition is telling. It is my hope that this discussion of the history of Beauvoir’s translation into English has provided us with an interesting perspective on the political potential of intellectual biography and personal genealogy as creative, supplemental and even remedial writing. Moi’s reissued text suggests how mechanisms of patriarchal marginalization undermine the contributions of intellectual women, and moreover do not need active allies. As the English life of The Second Sex demonstrates, they require only that her public contributions be milled through misrepresentative translation. A personal genealogy of Simone de Beauvoir is, as an examination of Moi’s text reveals, an intensely political project seeking to map in some small way the intellectual, political and philosophical terrain occupied by women living under patriarchy. This project, which is both methodological and sociohistorical, extends the purview of writing about a single individual to an examination of the promiscuous reincarnations of that individual’s various textual lives.
Notes
[1] Moi believes that for Beauvoir, “myths are fundamentally false representations of reality, not because they always get the facts wrong, but because they proclaim the existence of eternal, immutable and non-contingent essences” (209, emphasis mine). Establishing essentialisms – creating mythologies – about human identities would be anathemic to Beauvoir’s existentialist sensibilities which conceived of human existence as predicated on absolute freedom from essentialism. It is sadly ironic, then, that Beauvoir has been mythologized to the point of obscuring her intellectual contributions, the philosophical underpinnings of which would be diametrically opposed to such a representation.
[2] Over 15% of the original French text was cut in Parshley’s translation (Moi 2002: 108).
[3] Knopf/Vintage owns the exclusive rights to publish The Second Sex in English; their copyright does not expire until 2056, 70 years after Beauvoir’s death. Until then, no other publisher may produce an English translation of the work (Moi 2002: 107).
[4] In 1983, Margaret Simons published an article strongly criticizing the Knopf/Vintage translation of The Second Sex. What is more, she also contacted Beauvoir about the insufficiencies of this translation. Beauvoir’s letter in response to Simons’ work is telling for our discussion of translation: “I was dismayed to learn the extent to which Mr. Parshley misrepresented me. I wish with all my heart that you will be able to publish a new translation” (Simons 1983:564).
Works Cited
Moi, Toril. (2009) “The Adulteress Wife.” London Review of Books 32.3 (December). Online
article. Last accessed: 12 Apr 2010. http://www.lrb.co.uk/v32/n03/toril-moi/the-adulteress-wife
Moi, Toril. (2008) Simone de Beauvoir: The Makings of an Intellectual Woman, 2nd Ed. Oxford:
Oxford UP.
Moi, Toril. (2002) “While We Wait: The English Translation of “The Second Sex.” Signs 27.4
(Summer): 1005-1035.
Simons, Margaret. (1983) “The Silencing of Simone de Beauvoir: Guess What’s Missing from
The Second Sex.” Women’s Studies International Forum 6.5: 559-564
Rachel Kwan is a M.A. student at York University.