Ever been in a situation where you deliver an excellently executed translation only to see it turned into the proverbial Quasimodo? Recently, this happened to me.
Some background: in tandem with a colleague, we were tasked with localizing a web page for an international service provider. We created a thoroughly researched and cohesive term base, agreed upon common denominators to be used with tags, fine-tuned repeating phrases and slogans for the best possible linguistic effect, formulated a style guide from scratch, and noted localization logic fallacies to carefully avoid.
I was full of enthusiasm, energized even. Not every day do I have the chance to build the entire linguistic side of a project from the ground up. Usually, there already exists a (sometimes imperfect) style guide, term base, or translation memory, to be rigorously followed regardless of common sense. Even the requirement to use the client’s preferred translation platform from the early Stone Age couldn’t dampen my spirit.
My colleague and I proofread each other’s work, cross-referenced ambiguous segments with the English site, and sent and managed well over 100 queries. Naturally, we stressed that even though we had paid sharp attention to context, some segments might be used in unexpected settings, so post-localization in-system testing would be a must. “Sure thing,” we were assured. So we finally delivered the project.
All was well. Life was good. This was to be my masterpiece, a testament to what can be achieved by applying a comprehensive linguistic approach, a true benchmark leaving the client’s competitors in awe. Alas.
Weeks passed until the client finally contacted us, thanking us for our hard work and saying the page was now live.
Wh–?! Live?! But the testing?
“Yes, we know you promised, but [technical issues, launch deadlines, possibly budget problems].”
Oh, OK.
I still remember the excitement. Months of hard work had finally become something “tangible” and incredibly precious to me. I opened the localized site to check the results and … paused. What, in the name of Saint Jerome, was this mess?
Looking back at me from the page were inconsistent terminology changes, grammar issues, misused tags, deformed linguistic flow, mismatched polite vs. personal forms of address on the same page … you name it. Even the apostrophes were wrong.
After raising the alarm and asking the client for clarification, I was told their internal team “made some changes,” after which the person responsible for day-to-day site management “also had some thoughts”. No, none of those individuals had any linguistic background. Why was I asking about that?
And that was basically it. The client insisted the people who had maimed my masterpiece were the experts in their field, conveniently leaving my “but were they linguists?” question unanswered, despite several attempts. Their only half-hearted attempt at ensuring quality was asking, “Would you say these are Critical (blocking business) or ‘just’ serious (looking bad and should be fixed ASAP)?” Through gritted teeth, I admitted that though the linguistic side of the site looked ugly as a mangled idiom, users could still make purchases and interact with the site.
And that was that. I was left with a linguistic ache in my chest I’ve seldom felt before, wasted potential, and a load of human ignorance.