Had a hot date with the son last Friday. Picked him up at 3pm to take him to the school library. (Don’t worry, I brought along my marking so that I can be justifiable to warrant taxpayers’ hard-earned money.)

He ran to me excitedly, exclaiming that he had found the Chinese version of Pan Dorobo (Bread Thief).

I reluctantly went with him to the shelves. Couldn’t find it. Was getting impatient. My students’ brilliant assignments were beckoning to me, clamouring to be marked.

Stretched my patience. Finally located it on another shelf. Yup, I became delirious with anticipation too.

This book really drummed in the difference between Chinese and Japanese. For a start, I got a healthy boost of dopamine out of reading the Chinese version. It was chock-full of four-character phrases like 一清二楚 and 笑意盈盈 — and I could read everything comfortably. Japanese is blessed with tons of onomatopoeia, so it was fun to read the Chinese equivalents as well. Stuff like 软绵绵.

I wonder why the Chinese translator chose to write her translation in such a formal register. Like come on, how can 洋溢着灿烂的笑容 be appreciated by kids? I was in secondary school when I acquired this phrase!

Of course, this book isn’t written for the Singapore market, and I’m sure Mainland Chinese primary school kids will be able to enjoy this book easily. Nonetheless, I couldn’t help feeling that something has been lost in translation.

Pan dorobo is meant to be a children’s book, and its simple language appeals to kids and adults alike. In using so many four-character phrases, the Chinese version discards the whimsical vibes and lightheartedness that make the original book such a delight to read. This was the first time in which I felt the inadequacy of 成语 and 惯用语.

The saving grace? The son hung on to my every word, which goes to show how much he has enjoyed Bread Thief. I’m happy to bombard his ears with sophisticated Chinese phrases.