The Winding, Glorious Road to Publication

The Winding, Glorious Road to Publication: Yana Ellis on Her Debut Book-Length Translation of Zdravka Evtimova’s The Wolves of Staro Selo

Suzana Vuljevic in conversation with Yana Ellis

If we always read what we’ve always read, we risk becoming insular, lonely and short-sighted. We are all human and bleed the same blood, therefore we can find a kindred spirit across oceans through translation.

Yana and I met some years ago, in the thick of the pandemic, when we both received travel fellowships from the American Literary Translators Association (ALTA), an initiative designed to support emerging translators’ attendance and participation in the annual conference. Since then, we have commiserated over the challenges and difficulties of translation as vocation, gushed over the highs and rewards, and cheered each other on along the way. The path to publication is often long and winding, and comes without a clear-set guide and signposts. Prompted by the recent publication of Yana’s first book-length translation, Zdravka Evtimova’s The Wolves of Staro Selo (Héloïse Press)—the spellbinding story of a headstrong healer named Elena, known for mixing potions and bravely defending the vulnerable, translated from the Bulgarian—and in the spirit of transparency and learning from others’ experiences, we talked about the translation process, translation quandaries, the book’s path to publication, and what new projects lie ahead.

Suzana Vuljevic: The Wolves of Staro Selo reads a lot like a modern fairy tale for adults. The story is capacious (a rather tragic story of unrequited love occupies a large part), character-driven, there are easily recognizable heroes, villains and underdogs, and all are quite animated, not to mention the setting itself coming to life in stirring, magical ways. When you first read the manuscript, what did it sound like in your head? What dimension of the original imprinted itself in you first?

Yana Ellis: I was already acquainted with Zdravka’s magical world from her short stories. What pulled me into the novel was Damyana’s voice. The images were so vivid, pushing me to imagine the world in new dimensions I never thought possible—this was something I really liked as a reader. The narrative sounded like an amalgamation of Gipsy Kings, because it fused in a perfect harmony different voices, some of which inhabit the margins of Bulgarian society (and you could say any society) as well as all emotions known to man. The characters are full-blooded human beings—warts and all. The novel is written with great warmth for the Roma and with an understanding of their problems—living under social and ethno-discriminatory oppression, unemployment and poverty, lack of career prospects. Evtimova’s Roma are talented, full of life and beautiful.The novel attempts to change the perception of the Roma community as a marginalized and stigmatized social group of peoples who are always on the losing side of life.

SV: Did you have any inter-texts in mind? I sometimes find that when I’m translating prose with a lot of dialogue, I like to get into the proper headspace by turning to contemporary popular novels or reading around in books written in a similar mode in English. Was that a consideration for you?

YE: I didn’t have a specific inter-text in mind when I started working on my translation. However, I re-read One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez, tr. Gregory Rabassa and Pedro Páramo by Juan Rulfo, tr. Douglas J. Weatherford—both of these books helped me get into the shifting magical world of nature and the way it interacts with our emotions, as well as of course [the fact that] both novels include ‘social commentary’ on turbulent political events, or, rather, the changes in society these events impose, and deal with the internal ‘rise and fall’ of the characters. Also, Three Apples Fell from the Sky by Narine Abgaryan, tr. Lisa C. Hayden, particularly the image of the village Maran as a central character to the novel, which I read around the time of working on my translation, reminded me of Staro Selo. Another title I went back to re-read was Tasting Sunlight by Ewald Arenz, tr. Rachel Ward: This book is a feast for all the senses and was very informative when I was working on editing my translation. Another book I seem to always go back to when I’m working with a narrative that has strong voices is Paula by Sandra Hoffmann, tr. Katy Derbyshire. Hmm… all of these are books in translation! The staples of unreliable narrators in English: Atonement by Ian McEwan, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain, The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath.

Since this was to be my first full-length translation and I still have so much to learn, I felt I needed to revisit a few books on the act of translation that I found very helpful and illuminating: Mireille Gansel’s Translation as Transhumance in Ros Schwartz’s beautiful translation (Les Fugitives, 2018), Catching Fire, the translation of Diamela Eltit’s Never Did the Fire by Danny Hahn, and Emily Wilson’s translation note on The Odyssey. 

SV: Each translation presents its own delights and challenges, yet we seem to fall into certain habits out of pure necessity. We come to develop a process and a routine over time. 1) How do you typically approach a new translation? 2) In very practical terms, how do you go about rewriting the text in English? 3) How has your own process evolved over time, as you’ve gained more experience?

YE: 1) At this early stage of my career as a literary translator, I read the whole text to get a feel for it and to acquaint myself with the voices in the narrative. On that first read I am very much an ordinary reader—just enjoying the story and listening closely to my response to the text—what moves me, what annoys me as a reader, what do I think about while reading and afterwards. I don’t write these responses but make a mental note of them. Then I start with my first, what I call ‘Frankenstein’ draft which consists of covering, as quickly as I possibly can, the blank page with words in English that in some way reflect what is on the page of the original. At this stage I make a lot of comments from me to me in the margins and also pose hypothetical questions to the author. Once I’ve completed the first draft, I feel the real work begins. Initially I think I’m a cruel intruder who raids someone’s beloved home—I burst in and start pulling everything apart, turning over pillows and bedding, lifting carpets, even peeling the wallpaper and in general causing chaos until I’ve stripped everything to the bare skeleton. Only then, I feel, can I start lovingly rebuilding that home, only once I’ve understood its core characteristics, seen all the dangers and the tricky passages, and its beauty in the purest form. All of these open a passage to the author’s head as it were and inform my decisions on how to rebuild the text again using different tools but achieving the same effect on the reader. At this point in the process, I find myself thinking about the text and its fabric in the same way I think about my garden. I frame my thought process within the principles of organic gardening, maybe we could call it ‘organic translation’. After all, we as translators are transplanting this text into a new environment, so we have to understand it in order to find the best possible conditions in its new environment. So, in terms of language the literary tools that worked in the Bulgarian, and sometimes frames of reference, won’t necessarily work in English, particularly when it comes to punctuation. I always think of what Ros Schwartz said: ‘Don’t translate the punctuation, punctuate your translation.’ Therefore, we need to find suitable tools in the English language toolbox that do same thing. At times this means using verbs instead of nouns or even departing from the text to get closer to it. I’m still learning and discovering, and feel I have so much to learn, but that’s why I love this job—every day is a school day and teaches you patience and helps you cultivate understanding not only in literary terms but also in terms of how ideas develop depending on the global environment they were born into.

2) I tend to have between 5-7 drafts before I’m ready to show my translation to a third party (editor, peer reviewers). Around draft 5 I send my questions to the author and hopefully by this stage they are much fewer than after draft one. The difference between draft 5 and 7 could be only a couple of words, a few commas—nothing too drastic happens after draft 5. I tend to leave many options/word choices in the text until quite late because I like to finish the whole narrative before I commit. Perhaps one of my imperfections. The Wolves of Staro Selo was my first full-length book translation, and I learned a lot about myself and the craft in the process. I realised halfway through that I really ought to keep a glossary of terms that repeated as well as a rudimentary timeline of the events in the narrative. I also titled each section of the text with the predominant character/voice which helped me greatly when listening to them and making sure they retained their identity throughout the book. Later on, after I had handed my translation to the editor, this proved particularly helpful.

3) When I worked on texts during my MA, I used to agonise over each sentence during my first pass, but I realised that this didn’t work for me as at times it took me away from the intentions of the author and then I had to rework the text. I also felt vulnerable/exposed to the danger of losing the thread. The whole process stunted creativity for me and prevented me from merging with the text as a whole. I have now learned to restrain the urge to create a perfect one sentence that later on I might find doesn’t fit within the ecosystem of the text.

SV: There’s this beautiful thing the author does where she anthropomorphizes natural elements—“‘Siyana,’ the man said. The rain played with her name, tossing it towards the road. ‘Siyana,’ the man whispered, so quietly only the wind next to his lips heard him; the torrent didn’t pay any attention (p. 124).”—as well as inanimate objects—“He stepped and jumped and squatted; the one-storey house was amazed and began swaying to his rhythm. Damyana followed suit—jumped and stepped and squatted and flew towards the ceiling (p. 136).”—for greater effect. The language is also very rich—it enraptures and amuses. What was it like to translate these kinds of passages?

YE: Simply wonderful! Challenging, but so rewarding. I relived and experienced these passages, as it were, in the world of my own head and then searched for the words to render them in English as my own lived experiences. There is this merging with the text that happens then. More than ever, moving away from the text was essential in coming closer to the author’s intent. For example:

It was snowing, large lacy snowflakes. God was crocheting with clouds again. As if to trick Baba Marta into becoming His best friend and bringing the end of winter with her, He was grabbing the white yarn and throwing it over Radomir (p. 77).

Отново валеше, на едри парцали – сигурно Господ навиваше облаците на руло. И за да привлече Баба Марта да му бъде най-добър приятел, хващаше белите им краища и ги мяташе над Радомир (p. 84 in the original).

This was quite a challenge because no matter how many times I reworked this, the English was stilted and flat. I had to step away and ask myself: What is the author trying to achieve? What is more important to the narrative—the image or the words? To me it was the image that brought the mood and the feeling to the text, so I decided to focus entirely on the image and paint it, using words that would bring up associations and mean something to a UK reader since we don’t have that much experience of snow in the UK.

SV: What did you hope to achieve in translating this book? What was the benchmark of a successful translation of the book for you?

YE: First of all, I wanted to do justice to Zdravka’s writing—to render the text in English just as beautiful and full-blooded as it is in the Bulgarian. For me, the most important thing is the readers, and I hope they enjoy the book without ever thinking that it was translated. The book should sound to them as a story Zdravka Evtimova wrote, not as a story Yana is telling.

SV: Bulgarian is considered a “minor” language and literature, and you also translate from German, which occupies a large part of the English-language market of translated literature. Does this influence what you ultimately choose to translate?

YE: Yes, and no. Yes, because it is important to bring into the conversation voices of ‘minor’ languages and thus stimulate the conversation. Also, Bulgarian literature is very rich, but sadly little known to anglophone readers. After all, because a language is labelled ‘minor’ doesn’t mean to say that the people who speak this language have minor ideas and we shouldn’t engage with their art. No, in the way the question is framed because I am drawn to narratives that give voice to the marginalized, to the ideas and people who we don’t often hear in mainstream narratives. So, I will always veer towards a text that does this, but also a text that is beautiful in its own right. If we always read what we’ve always read, we risk becoming insular, lonely and short-sighted. We are all human and bleed the same blood, therefore we can find a kindred spirit across oceans through translation.

SV: Where would you place this work within the Bulgarian literary tradition?

YE: I am not an expert on Bulgarian literature. However, Zdravka is one of the most significant contemporary Bulgarian writers, loved by the readers. Her writing is not only beautiful, but very humane.

SV: Did you work closely with your author? If so, what was that like?

YE: Yes, I had the privilege of working very closely with Zdravka. She was very responsive to my questions. We discovered that we both have a passion for gardening and often talked about that. But it was these conversations, not directly related to the book, that helped me in finding the narrator’s voice and getting closer to the way the author sees the world.

SV: What was the path from translation to publication like? (I know you mentioned that you were on a pretty tight deadline for a book of this length.) Was this a commissioned translation, or one that you pursued of your own inclination and initiative?

YE: Héloïse Press was the first publisher I pitched the book to, and I was very lucky that Aina Marti liked my sample and trusted me to do a good job. I landed on my feet with this publisher—I was treated with respect and the whole process was very smooth. The deadline was a little tight and had I had more experience I would have negotiated a longer deadline. However, I am fortunate that I can schedule my working hours depending on my workload, so I was able to meet the deadline. I had plenty of time for discussions with the editor and was grateful for the ability to revisit my choices and think about and reflect on the decisions I had made at an earlier stage of the process. It was amazing to have an editor who engaged with the narrative and encouraged discussion rather than taking a red pen and making decisions on my and the author’s behalf.

SV: This book marks your transition from emerging translator to fully-fledged translator, which we define as a translator who has published one book-length translation. What was that journey like for you? Has your confidence and comfortability as a translator grown?

YE: Well, I’ve started to emerge, but I would like to have a few more books under my belt before I feel fully fledged.

The journey was hard and exhilarating and joyous all at once. I expect it will continue to be so, but then at times I ask myself: Would I want it to be any other way?

My confidence has grown, and I feel more comfortable when approaching publishers and authors. However, each text presents its own challenges, each text will probably push me out of my comfort zone, and I will learn new things, experience new challenges and delights. Translation, I think, is a lifetime vocation; there is no grand finale, not to me anyway.

SV: Translators are notorious for having several irons in the fire so to speak, so what are you working on currently?

YE: I have a couple of projects that I am hoping will come to fruition. One of the books, told from the perspective of a ten-year-old who is subjected to racism during the 80’s in Switzerland, is a poetic gem of a novel that exposes the human compulsion to divide all life into categories and the resulting temptation to put this life in a kind of ranking. The other title is a dark, funny, extraordinary tale of present-day Bulgaria following the twists and turns of a lunatic’s journey to the sea, after which no one and nothing will ever be the same. The novel is set in an abandoned coal mining town that is slated to become a mega retirement home in which the local population will serve the elderly from richer countries. I am also working on a few sample translations which I intend to pitch later in the year (Nacktschnecken [Slugs] by Annemarie Andre, Rodinia by Nikolay Terziyski, Chékmo by Momchil Nikolov).

Yana Ellis holds an MA in Translation from the University of Bristol. She translates fiction and creative non-fiction from Bulgarian and German. She was shortlisted for the 2022 John Dryden Translation Competition and in the same year was awarded an ALTA Travel Fellowship. Her work has appeared in JoLT, No Man’s Land, The Common, SAND Journal, Trafika Europe, Turkoslavia and Words Without Borders. Her first book-length title The Wolves of Staro Selo by Zdravka Evtimova, recipient of the PEN Translates Award, was published by Héloïse Press in March 2025. (Author photo courtesy of Camila França Photography)

Suzana Vuljevic is a historian, writer and translator (Albanian and Bosnian, Croatian, Montenegrin, Serbian to English) with a Ph.D. in History and Comparative Literature from Columbia University. Her essays and translations have appeared in Artforum, Asymptote, AGNI, Exchanges, Harvard Magazine, Modern Poetry in Translation, Trafika Europe, Turkoslavia, and elsewhere. She was named a 2022 ALTA Virtual Travel Fellow and currently teaches in the Program in Albanian and Southeast European Studies at DePaul University.

Originally published on Hopscotch Translation
Tuesday, May 13, 2025