Many voices add to story
Maori scholars contribute to authenticity of Donovan Bixley’s children’s book
The amount of Ma¯ori language materials being produced privately and publicly is a travesty for our te reo Ma¯ori readership, especially for the growing number of children learning te reo Ma¯ori from a young age. So when I was approached about advising and translating a new story book, I took the opportunity. Growing up, I don’t think I owned one book showing Ma¯ori culture in a fun or bright way, so How Ma¯ui Fished up the North Island, by Donovan Bixley, is certainly a positive contribution.
It’s an interesting task to be asked to assist a non-Ma¯ori-speaking author to bring to life a Ma¯orispeaking character. I commend Mr Bixley and his publisher, UpStart Press, for being keen to ensure authenticity, and committed to publishing a te reo Ma¯ori version at the same time, which is rare.
Authenticity is an interesting concept. What is authentic to one iwi may not be to another. What is authentic to us in Aotearoa may not resonate with our Island relations. I tried to give the author as much central and peripheral information relevant to the story, while bearing in mind the story is a reimagining of Ma¯ui as a boy to capture the imagination of tamariki.
I like this version, a departure from the muscle-bound, lone hero trope so common in Ma¯ui re-tellings. For example, in many stories Ma¯ui punches his own nose to smear his demigod blood on to his fishhook to attract, with sacred bait, the interest of a fish of great magnitude. I don’t like the self-harm aspect, so I suggested a rough-and-tumble brother elbow instead — still blood, but with a slight twist. As the kids grow they can learn their own correct version.
I also asked Mr Bixley to represent Ma¯ui in the waka sorting out his fishing line as if playing Te Whai wawewawe a Ma¯ui, or his string game. Another re-imagining that poses the question: “Did Ma¯ui invent his string game while fishing”. It is subtle and you need knowledge of Ma¯ori culture to unpack it.
Much of my input was ensuring we adhered to the story and followed current orthographical conventions (no “S” on Mao¯ri words) and so on. Mr Bixley had the toki ngao pae, the course carving adze, and I had the toki ngao matariki, the finer chisel, to give it a finer finish. There were many little things to fix and discuss, including a visual audit of the final illustrations to make sure they were appropriate. The campfire personification as male was corrected to female.
I wanted the translation to read like it had been written in Ma¯ori first. As a licensed translator I had a duty to do the story justice but I had my doubts. So I gave my translation to a critical reader who said, “It doesn’t sound ‘really Ma¯ori’”. Was it that awful? No, it would have been fine, as another reader of Ma¯ori said. But I didn’t want “fine”, I wanted “fantastic”, so I phoned a friend, Keri Opai.
He received his translator’s licence more than 20 years ago and he was the youngest in New Zealand to do so, and recently won an Australasian award for his corpus development of Ma¯ori mental health terms, Te Reo Ha¯pai. He edited my Ma¯ori by grafting his own eloquent prose on to it. All he wanted as payment was some movie theatre tickets. That was one of the most humbling parts of the journey to get this book published. A¯ I rewrote my contract with UpStart to halve any royalties and payments, and to include Mr Opai as co-author. In the end it was a collaboration, edited by He¯ni Jacob who bought a third lens to the party. I think it went from average to fantastic with our collective input.
Usually the Ma¯ori edition of a picture book comes out several years later if the book has done well enough commercially. Kevin Chapman, from Upstart, made a commitment to have it translated and published at the same time. What a fantastic acknowledgement of Ma¯ori language, along with a commitment to have this book, Ma¯ori and English editions, in the programme Duffy Books in Homes.
Are there problems, still, in the book? Of course. I reread my new copy and as soon as I saw the fishing lines in the water I had a laugh. I thought, “Oh man, my dad who was a fisherman would have laughed at me for making that mistake.” The fishing lines defy gravity as there aren’t any sinkers on them!
Nga¯ mihi nunui i te¯nei wiki o te reo Ma¯ori. e, kia kaha te reo!
It’s an interesting task to be asked to assist a non-Ma¯orispeaking author to bring to life a Ma¯orispeaking character.
(Nga¯ti Maniapoto) is a senior lecturer of te reo Ma¯ori at Massey University’s Te Pu¯tahi-a-Toi, School of Ma¯ori Knowledge.