Then, as “[t]he torches flared up and tongues of flame flung themselves toward the deep purple sky[, t]he marshal meticulously groped the rows of naked people with his eyes and once again opened his mouth” (Sorokin 178). The torches illume the words whilst the humans support the torches, rendering the flames the true life of the translation and the humans merely a foundation to sustain the torches. Whereas materials such as food, water, and heat provide livelihood to humans, in “The Swim,” humans are the fuel, if you will, for the translation. The alliteration of the ‘f’ in the aforementioned description suggests a sort of lapping motion of the flame, further evidenced by the word choice of “tongues.” The image of tongues adds a human quality to the flames, as if to give them life, and what seems to be sexual agency. As the marshal commoditizes his crew by groping them with his eyes, he ironically reduces their humanness, allowing the flames to gain it.

Ivan revels in a sort of sexual pleasure upon the completion of the job with which he has been entrusted, which we can attribute to his identifying himself by his position as an attendant signifier. As Ivan’s regiment approaches a populated area that will supply them a sizeable audience, he thinks of his pointedly large right arm and revels in its role’s significance:

As his muscles expanded, his tendons bulged, and his skin turned a purple hue, inside Ivan there grew a proud self-confidence, and the feeling of superiority over his fellow citizens who did not have such a right arm intensified. From early spring until late fall he would wear short-sleeved shirts, showing off his powerful arm. This felt good. (Sorokin 188)

The description of Ivan’s right arm—the arm responsible for carrying the torch that illumes the message—is overtly sexual, mentioning muscle growth, bulges, and skin-color changing as a result of blood-flow. Ivan’s sentient sexuality derives from a nonliving notion of signifiers standing in for signifieds and being a part of the process that translates the one into the other. The act of translating enamors Ivan, while also ironically commoditizing him. Ivan provides power to the translation by recognizing himself as a subordinate of its power and allowing it to define his own reality. He then becomes increasingly enthusiastic about his position as the regiment draws even nearer to the forthcoming crowd, as “Ivan gripped his torch more firmly and raised it higher. One thousand and eighteen times he had swum through this place, through this awe-inspiring and solemn orifice, but every time he was overcome by a tremor of excitement for beyond the bridge lay… the Canal of Renewed Flesh” (Sorokin 188). This scene contains several very apparent instances of sexual language, including a firm grip, the raising of the torch being gripped, the term ‘orifice,’ the tremor of excitement, and the name of the nearing canal. These carefully chosen descriptors denote a sexual arousal in Ivan consequent to the knowledge that a large crowd is about to experience his translated signifier, which suggests that he has an erotic attachment to the act of translating, or at least being a part of the process of translation.

This erogenous connection between Ivan and translation is further evidenced when Ivan’s symbolic castration is expounded. The narrator explains that after a certain point, “the pain would reach [Ivan’s fingers], and the tin handle would seem like cardboard, icy, greasy, burning, downy, and rubbery, and then his fingers would be tightly grasping a void, and [he] would lose his right arm until the very end of the swim” (Sorokin 190). The phrase “lose his right arm” indicates that the appendage that was previously bulging with excitement and strength now causes Ivan pain and discomfort as he continues to utilize it even after he no longer wishes to do so. This situation presents itself as Ivan being sexually abused by his own translation, for he appears to feel obligated to complete the job—which can be comprehended figuratively or literally—even when he can no longer physically bear it.

In her essay “Gender and the Metaphorics of Translation,” Lori Chamberlain discusses the feminine role assigned to translations and writes, “While the translator is figured as a male, the text itself is figured as a female whose chastity must be protected” (Chamberlain 59). As previously mentioned, Ivan may be considered a translator in “The Swim,” for he translocates a signified from one medium to another by means of consciously controlling the signifier. With the amalgamation of Ivan’s adamancy in regards to maintaining the signifier and the sexual language and imagery used to describe Ivan’s relation to the translation, it does indeed seem that he makes an authentic attempt to preserve the translation’s fidelity if not for the public’s comprehension of the message, then for his own personal attachment to the words.

Chamberlain then refers to a poem written by Thomas Francklin about translation as a mistress, and then explains that translation “render[s] the author relatively powerless in relation to the translator. The author-text, now a mistress, is flattered and seduced by the translator’s attentions, becoming a willing collaborator in the project to make herself beautiful – and, no doubt, unfaithful” (Chamberlain 59). In “The Swim,” we see Ivan literally sacrifice his life for the integrity of the translation. We can attribute Ivan’s loyalty to the translation via the notion that he “understood that with his comma he was dividing this long but very important sentence in two, and that without his torch the sentence would lose its great meaning,” for he not only holds the torch, but also the responsibility of bearing the original message to the public in a manner by which they will understand it as it was intended to be understood (Sorokin 186). Ivan identifies himself as the comma of what he believes to be a great and meaningful sentence, demonstrating that his existentiality is founded upon only his present duty, further supporting the commoditization of humans and the personification of words. While the words are given their own agency in the story, Ivan’s existence is dedicated to ensuring the words maintain a static meaning; because they are provided their own will, however, we see Ivan be incapable of controlling the words and ultimately sacrifice his own life trying to do so. Ivan’s efforts to keep the translation true to its original message are discernibly violent as he is betrayed by the unfaithful words, whose chastity he was unable to defend. The imagery of the “sound [that] could be heard like the cracking of an egg, and something oily flow[ing] down his arm” incites images of reproduction—especially due to the specified sound of an egg cracking (Sorokin 192). Chamberlain discusses the concept of the original text as a production and the translated text as a reproduction (57): under this supposition, Chamberlain asserts that notions of paternity are deeply embedded in the act of translation, which delegates translations the role of bastard children (60-1). When Ivan cracks his torch, which is likened to an egg, and the oil leaks out, one might read this as a violent sexual act in which the feminine (egg) is violently abused while the masculine (leaking oil) enjoys its release to Ivan’s detriment. Chamberlain explicates how translation can be viewed as an oedipal triangle, in which there is “a desire to kill the symbolic father text/author” (63), which could be said to be Ivan in the case of “The Swim,” for in this interesting circumstance, Ivan exists in the position of both original author—due to the fact that his translation is intended to be an exact copy of the original—and translator, whereby the message itself has its own entity and thus exposes its oedipal complex when it kills its originator.

At the conclusion of “The Swim,” Ivan has burned to death at the will of his own translation, and the message depicted by the flames has altered from its original demonstration. Despite Ivan’s efforts to guard the fidelity of the translation, the translation enforced its own agency and rendered Ivan’s attempts futile. As is literary tradition, words proved in “The Swim” that they have a life of their own and cannot be manipulated by man to lose their free will. Even had Ivan been able to successfully protect the translation, every person to read the message would interpret it differently. Perhaps the message here is that no matter how closely to the unprecedented text a translator may adhere, the translation will never reach uniformity to the original because there really is no original text when personal interpretation is considered.

The question we must then consider, however, is whether we actually covet this unachievable uniformity, or if that power language possesses might actually be a benevolent one. In brief correspondence with our keynote speaker Brian James Baer, I was enlightened as to the notion of language as a liberating act rather than one that binds its subjects to preconceived meaning or unintended interpretation. Baer likens the act of translating to the process of an actor determining how to play a character and using “all the resources of the English language—rhythm, sound, and a very rich lexicon” to do so. In his explication, he alludes to a Sixty Minutes interview with Jennifer Lawrence in which she describes “the actor’s high” she experiences when she pins down what she feels is a successful “embodiment” of the newly examined character she is to play (Baer). Ivan falls subject to language perhaps because of his task’s conforming nature in that he is supplying the fuel for an authoritarian regime to continue its commoditizing of society. Baer describes his “task” of translating to “reincarnate the ‘voice’ of the original author in another language,” whereby life is transmitted from one language to another and the original piece is simultaneously revived (Baer). With this notion in mind, we can find optimism in that perhaps rather than merely being affected, influenced, or controlled by language, we can work with language to imbibe comprehension with that same life in language that conquers.