Translating non-binary narratives

1 Introduction: Queer approaches to literary translation

The intersection of Translation Studies and Gender Studies has increasingly attracted scholarly interest as the area of inquiry expands to engage with broader social, cultural, and political issues. Historically, translation was perceived as a straightforward process of cross-linguistic transfer, aimed at the accurate transmission of content from one language to another. Since the 1980 s and 1990 s, however, scholars have begun to emphasise how translation is embedded in power structures, carrying with it the potential to reinforce or challenge dominant ideologies (Spivak 1993), including those pertaining to gender norms (Simon 1996; Flotow 1997). This shift in perspective – fostered by culturalist approaches to translation and particularly by the empirical framework of Descriptive Translation Studies – has led us to recognise that translators play an active role in interpreting, shaping, and potentially subverting (gendered) meanings within texts (Toury 1980, 1995; Bassnett/Lefevere 1990). Through translation, questions of gender representation and inclusivity can be addressed or erased, and choices made in the translation process may influence readers’ perceptions of gendered identities.

In recent years, Queer Studies has further expanded the boundaries of gender-interrogated Translation Studies by questioning the fixed, binary conceptions of gender and sexuality often embedded in language. Emerging from LGBTQ+ Studies, feminist thought, and poststructuralist philosophy, queer theory resists rigid categories, instead embracing fluidity, multiplicity, and the deconstruction of normativity (Trott/Laufenberg 2023). Central to queer theory is the recognition that gender identity is not an inherent or fixed attribute but rather a performative and socially constructed phenomenon shaped by language, culture, and power relations (Butler 1990; Leap 2023). This perspective aligns with contemporary views of translation as a transformative, meaning-making process rather than a neutral act of linguistic transfer. Translation, from this vantage point, becomes a space where heteronormative assumptions in both source and target languages can be exposed, subverted, or reimagined, offering new avenues for representing gender and sexual diversity (Spurlin 2014; Baer 2021).

In this light, the integration of queer perspectives into Translation Studies has extended the field’s capacity to address questions of inclusivity, agency, and resistance (Epstein/Gillett 2017; Baer/Kaindl 2020). Translators are seen no longer as intermediaries but rather as active agents capable of reshaping texts to resist cis- and heteronormative frameworks, promoting a new “ethical and politically effective” behaviour in society (Bermann 2014:293). Queer theory also calls for attention to the material and political dimensions of translation, highlighting how translation practices can be used to amplify marginalised voices or, conversely, to reinforce erasure and invisibility. For example, translation choices regarding pronouns, queer lexicons, or cultural references can significantly influence how nonconforming identities are represented, understood, and valued across linguistic and cultural boundaries. This activist orientation aligns with broader queer methodologies that aim not only to critique but also to disrupt and transform normative structures (Berlant/Warner 1995; Kedem 2019).

Such considerations are particularly salient in the translation of works by non-binary^[1] authors in which linguistic and cultural norms often fail to accommodate the fluidity of identities portrayed in the source text – and equally so for works by authors who are not non-binary but choose to employ innovative narrative strategies and experimental language to challenge traditional notions of gender. Translating such works requires not only linguistic dexterity but also a nuanced understanding of how gender is constructed and performed differently across cultures. This dynamic interplay between language, identity, and power makes queer translation a complex and deeply politicised endeavour, as it engages with the limits of language and the potential for its reinvention.

Situated within this theoretical framework, this article offers an in-depth exploration of the linguistic and aesthetic techniques used by non-binary authors in German-language literature, focusing specifically on the unique challenges these techniques pose for translation. Following a systematic survey of prevalent gender-neutral and gender-inclusive strategies in German and Italian, I discuss two representative case studies to elucidate how two prominent non-binary authors depict gender-nonconforming characters and how their queer linguistic and narrative choices were rendered – or altered – through translation into Italian. The analysis begins by examining the use of shifting pronouns in Sasha Marianna Salzmann’s novel Außer sich (2017) and then explores Kim de l’Horizon’s playful approach to gender-fair language in their autofiction Blutbuch (2022). Through a translatological and comparative lens, my study critically assesses the Italian translations of both novels, focusing on how each author’s techniques for challenging cis-normativity were transposed into the target language.

The overall aim of this research is to shed light on the complexities of non-binary representation while underscoring the importance of linguistic and cultural sensitivity in the translation process. By situating its analysis at the intersection of sociolinguistics and literary translation studies – and by focusing on the language pair of German and Italian, which is still rather underexplored in relation to these themes – my work further contributes to ongoing discussions about how language shapes our understanding of identity in increasingly heterogeneous societies. This research also serves as a reference point for future studies on gender-fair language in literary translation across other linguistic and cultural contexts.

2 Gender-fair language strategies

As is widely known, the concept of gender carries multiple meanings. It can refer to gender identity – an internal sense of one’s own gender that may differ from one’s sex assigned at birth – which is understood as a social construction rather than an inherent biological trait. Butler (1990) and others have famously argued that gender, rather than being an expression of an individual’s authentic self, is constituted through repeated behaviours, actions, and language that conform to societal norms. This perspective has challenged the traditional male/female gender binary and has suggested that gender identity is fluid, unstable, and performative. The way we enact and represent gender thereby reinforces its social constructs, a notion that opens up possibilities for disrupting and rethinking rigid gender boundaries and behaviours (Piccone Stella/Saraceno 1996; Ruspini 2023).

In the field of linguistics, gender is defined as a specific type of noun class system, whose traits are “reflected in the behaviour of associated words” (Hockett 1958:231) – that is, assignment to different grammatical genders typically corresponds with morphemic alternations. As Corbett (1991) notes in his examination of grammatical gender across a multitude of languages, gender as a grammatical category may be pervasive in some languages and totally absent in others, and it may or may not correspond to extra-linguistic realities. The representation of gender thus varies significantly across languages, with scholars generally distinguishing between grammatical gender, notional gender, and genderless languages (McConnell-Ginet 2013; Stahlberg et al. 2007). In languages with grammatical gender systems, such as German and Italian, each noun has a grammatical gender, and other word classes (e. g., determiners, pronouns, and adjectives) must be inflected in agreement with a given noun’s gender. In languages with notional gender systems, gender distinctions are typically applied based on the actual biological or social gender of the noun referent. For instance, in English, gender-specific pronouns such as he and she reflect notional gender by representing people according to their real-world gender. This system reflects gender primarily in pronouns and sometimes in nouns, through lexical gender (boy/girl, uncle/aunt, queen/king, bull/cow, etc.) and derivational nouns (actor/actress, widow/widower, hero/heroine, etc.). Genderless languages, such as Turkish and Finnish, are largely gender-neutral: they typically lack gendered pronouns, and other word classes do not change form based on gender. This absence of grammatical gender can reduce the salience of gender distinctions in communication, as gender-specific references are only made explicit when contextually necessary.

In recent years, as non-binary identities have gained greater recognition in public discourse, the need for inclusive strategies has become central in many languages (Hord 2016; Comandini 2021). Non-binary individuals, who often reject pronouns specifically linked to male or female genders, challenge traditional views of gender, prompting efforts to develop new ways of speaking and writing that acknowledge non-binary identities and enable their visibility and understanding within their environments (Gheno 2022). As societies become increasingly aware of gender diversity, linguistic adjustment becomes critical if language is to accurately reflect and respect the identities of all individuals.^[2] Various strategies have emerged to linguistically represent non-binary subjects, ranging from the adaptation of existing forms to the creation of new, inclusive language structures. However, language-specific solutions for non-binary representation differ widely due to structural and cultural factors. English, for instance, with its relatively limited gender specifications in grammar, allows for the adoption of strategies like the singular they and epicene nouns (i. e., nouns that are the same for both male and female referents) to represent non-binary individuals and those whose gender is unknown. These adaptations have been largely accepted (LaScotte 2016), making English particularly suited for inclusive language practices. In contrast, fusional languages that use inflectional morphemes to denote grammatical features – such as German and Italian – pose unique challenges for gender inclusivity as they have “less ‘room’ for neutral language – [...] less space, opportunity, ease and susceptibility to its development” (Hord 2016:1). Like other heavily gendered languages, German and Italian feature gender inflection in most parts of speech, making it more challenging to establish a consistent gender-fair language strategy.

Building on recent literature on non-binary language strategies, and particularly on the classification proposed by Lardelli/Gromann (2023:217ff.) for German and Italian, this section provides an overview of the most common (as well as some rather experimental) gender-fair strategies introduced in both languages to represent non-binary genders. The umbrella term “gender-fair language” is used here to indicate both “gender-neutral” and “gender-inclusive” approaches (Sczesny et al. 2016): the first refers to strategies aimed at concealing gender in language, for example through the use of rewording, passive constructions, impersonal pronouns, or gender-neutral words; the second describes the use of typographical characters and newly coined constructions – neomorphemes and neopronouns – deployed to make all genders visible.^[3] It must be stated from the outset that a shared solution is still elusive in both German and Italian, where strategy selection is highly context – dependent and different strategies can also be used simultaneously. In both languages, the debate on gender-fair language remains particularly intense as speakers and institutions try to navigate the balance between traditional grammar rules and evolving social behaviours (Müller-Spitze 2021; Sulis/Gheno 2022; Pfalzgraf 2024).

3 Sasha Marianna Salzmann’s Außer sich in translation

Published by Suhrkamp in 2017, Sasha Marianna Salzmann’s debut novel Außer sich was shortlisted for the German Book Prize and received numerous awards and accolades. To date, the book has been translated into 16 languages, further establishing Salzmann – an acclaimed playwright and theatre director – as an internationally respected writer of prose. This success, followed by the publication of Salzmann’s second novel, Im Menschen muss alles herrlich sein (2022), led to several illustrious prizes, including the Hermann-Hesse-Literaturpreis in 2022 and the Kleist-Preis in 2024.

The novel tells the story of Alissa Tschepanow – called Ali to reflect their non-binary identity – and their twin brother Anton, who emigrated with their family from antisemitic Russia to Germany in the 1990 s as Jewish Kontingentflüchtlinge (quota refugees) – just like Salzmann’s family. Amid experiences of social exclusion in their new environment and emotional turbulence at home, Ali finds a deep sense of connection and support in their bond with Anton. After their father’s suicide and an incestuous encounter between the twins, Anton vanishes without explanation, later sending Ali a postcard with the cryptic message “Istanbul”. Ali embarks on a journey to Turkey to find their brother but, aside from a few hallucinated encounters, never succeeds in tracking him down. It quickly becomes clear that this quest for Anton also serves as a self-reflective journey for Ali, who – having lost their other half – seeks to reconstruct their origins by exploring their Jewish and Eastern European family history. The narrative’s span across various locations and historical periods – including early and mid-twentieth-century Russia and Eastern Europe, post-1989 Germany, and contemporary Turkey – produces a multigenerational saga marked by domestic violence, war, persecution, migration, and antisemitic discrimination.^[7]

In Istanbul, Ali falls in love with Katho, a transgender dancer from Odessa, and becomes part of the vibrant queer scene of the city. In an attempt to resemble their twin brother – or perhaps simply to discover their true self – Ali decides to transition to the male gender: they begin testosterone treatment and eventually adopt the identity of Anton. By the novel’s conclusion, the narrative shifts from using the pronoun sie (she) to er (he). Yet this transition is not final, and Ali’s identity remains fluid and unresolved until the last pages.

The journeys and transformations in the text are enriched by a narrative that constantly switches between homo- and heterodiegetic perspectives, and between Ali’s voice and that of their brother (Hampel 2021:324). These multiple perspectives allow Salzmann to present a range of different viewpoints simultaneously, thereby resisting any fixed or singular interpretation. Following Lanser’s definition of “queer narrative voices”, we can certainly describe this narrative style as “queer” – not only because the narrator can be identified as a gender-nonconforming subject but also because the multiple, ambiguous voices in the text confound “our categorical assumptions about narrator and narrative” (2018:926), creating a space of possibilities in which fluid identities can be represented and articulated.

The complexity of the novel’s narrative structure is also a reflection of the protagonist’s identity: as a post-migrant, multilingual,^[8] and non-binary subject, Ali fundamentally questions all forms of fixity – be they national, religious, linguistic, or related to gender. In a few key passages, Ali openly rejects binary gender structures and heteronormative societal concepts, expressing their disorientation in having to define their identity: “Ich weiß ja noch nicht mal, als was ich angesprochen werde, wenn ich Zigaretten kaufen gehe – als ein Er oder eine Sie? Mein Gesicht überrascht mich jeden Morgen im Spiegel, und ich bin skeptisch gegenüber jeder Prognose” (Salzmann 2017:261).

To reflect the openness of the character and accompany their transition, the narrator oscillates between feminine and masculine gender markers when referring to Ali:

(1a) Ali hatte keine Ahnung, ob jemand auf sie warten würde, sie hoffte es, aber sie wusste es nicht. Sie lag auf dem Boden und schlug mit Wimpern wie eine Fliege mit ihren Flügeln. Sie wollte rauchen, ganz dringend, [...] dieser Wunsch zog sie am Kragen hoch und raus aus der Klokabine. (13)

(2a) Ali war sich nicht sicher, ob er [Hassan] ihn für jemand anderen hielt, einen neuen Kunden, einen Touristen, der übers Wochenende gekommen war und sich in der Nähe eine Wohnung genommen hatte. Er konnte es nicht sagen, ob er für andere jetzt ganz anders aussah oder überhaupt nicht. (346)

In excerpt (1a), taken from the beginning of the novel, the feminine pronoun sie is used to situate Ali within a traditionally feminine linguistic framework, aligning with societal conventions based on assumed gender. In excerpt (2a), taken from the final pages of the novel, masculine gender markers (the pronoun er, the masculine accusative forms einen neuen Kunden and einen Touristen, as well as relative pronoun der) are employed, signalling a shift in how Ali is represented and perhaps perceived by others. This shift in gender markers underscores the fluidity of Ali’s identity and their transitional state. The uncertainty expressed in this passage – whether others perceive Ali as a different person or even recognise them – further mirrors the instability and ambiguity of their gendered subjectivity.

Salzmann’s use of female pronouns and gender markers in the first part of the novel and male markers towards the end made it relatively straightforward for the Italian translator Fabio Cremonesi to remain faithful to the source text. In his translation of the novel – published by Marsilio as Fuori di sé, and nominated for the prestigious Premio Strega Europeo in 2019 – Cremonesi maintains the fluidity within the linguistic binary that Salzmann originally deployed in German, preserving Ali’s evolving identity in the Italian version:

(1b) Ali non sapeva se qualcuno fosse venuto a prenderla, lo sperava ma non ne era sicura. Sdraiata sul pavimento, sbatteva le ciglia come una mosca le ali. Aveva una voglia impellente di fumare, [...] una voglia che la sollevò per il bavero e la fece uscire dal gabinetto. (Salzmann 2019:16)

(2b) Ali non capiva se Hassan l’avesse scambiato per qualcun altro: un nuovo cliente, un turista che aveva preso un appartamento in zona per il fine settimana. Non sapeva se ormai gli altri lo vedessero completamente diverso oppure no. (ibid.:340f.)

These examples illustrate how the Italian translation effectively captures the dynamic interplay of gendered language in the original narrative. Since Italian is a pro-drop language, gender marking is not primarily dependent on the personal subject pronoun, which can be omitted, but rather on adjective or past participle agreement (sicura, sdraiata, scambiato, nuovo, diverso), articles (un), and personal object pronouns (la, lo). By reproducing Ali’s fluidity, alternating female and male forms as they appeared in the source text, Cremonesi’s translation extends into Italian Salzmann’s challenge of fixed gender norms and successfully replicates the linguistic flexibility common among trans individuals, who may switch between male and female gender markers when referring to themselves (Rose 2021). This translation strategy ensures that the novel’s themes of gender fluidity and ambiguity are faithfully preserved, offering readers a nuanced rendition of Salzmann’s exploration of identity in flux.

4 Kim de l’Horizon’s Blutbuch in translation

A more challenging use of language and gender markers can be found in Blutbuch, the debut novel by Swiss author Kim de l’Horizon. Published by DuMont Verlag in 2022, the novel was awarded both the German and the Swiss Book Prize, becoming a rare sensation in the German-language literary landscape. Blutbuch tells the story of a non-binary person, Kim, whose grandmother’s dementia diagnosis triggers a reexamination of their family history. Kim explores their childhood memories, uncovers the hidden stories of the women in their lineage – including the secret surrounding their disappeared great-aunt – and reflects on their formative relationship with a copper beech tree in their grandmother’s garden.

The novel’s autofictional nature (de l’Horizon 2022:270) blurs the lines between narrator and author, who share the same names, geographical and social backgrounds, and non-binary identities. De l’Horizon employs a distinctive non-linear writing style, intertwining diary entries with letters to their grandmother, dialogues with family and friends, botanical research, and biographical attempts to reconstruct their matrilineal family tree. This composite narrative structure can also, like that of Außer sich, be defined as “queer” (Lanser 2018), as it challenges traditional diegesis as well as conventional notions of self and other, body and mind, offering a rich, multi-layered exploration of Kim’s personal and familial history.^[9]

The language of the novel is remarkably composite, too, blending multiple registers and incorporating words and expressions from Bernese dialect and French, as well as numerous anglicisms, used in particular to describe sexual realia in Kim’s recounting of the queer dating scene. Puns also play a crucial role. For instance, Kim exploits the polysemy of the French words mère (mother) and mer (sea), integrating them into German compound nouns by replacing Mutter with Meer: they refer to their mother tongue as Meersprache – beautifully rendered in Italian by translator Silvia Albesano as “lingua ma(d)re” (de l’Horizon 2023:95), which preserves the ambiguity of madre (mother) and mare (sea) – and to their grandmother as Grossmeer, further evolving into the diminutive Grossmeerchen, which leads to additional wordplay (grosses Märchen, big fairy tale / grosses Mädchen, grown-up girl). These puns are either adapted in Italian (with wordplay leading from nonnina, granny, to ninnananna, lullaby) or discarded (as in bambina grande) to preserve the flow:

(3a) Grossmeer, ach Grossmerchen, du bist ein grosses Märchen geworden, wiederholst dich, bewegst dich in Formeln, bist ein Stück Vergangenheit, das uns heimsucht, du bist ein grosses Mädchen geworden, du pinkelst in den Schirmständer, wenn mensch dich nicht aufs Klo zwingt. (183)

(3b) Grossmeer, oh nonna, nonnina, nonna ninna, sei diventata una grande ninnananna, ti ripeti, ti muovi secondo delle formule, sei un pezzo di passato che ci perseguita, sei diventata una bambina grande, se non ti costringono ad andare in bagno fai la pipì nei portaombrelli. (179)

The novel’s title, Blutbuch, is also a prime example of wordplay, as ‘blood book’ alludes to the biopolitical dimension of Kim’s writing while recalling the copper beech (Blutbuche) with which Kim has a symbiotic relationship and Blutbauch (blood belly) – Buch being a Swiss German variant of the standard High German Bauch – evoking childbirth, blood ties, and the suffering endured by the women in Kim’s lineage. This linguistic eclecticism and poetic use of polisemy is difficult to render in other languages – as suggested by the titles of some of the translations published so far: while the French, Polish, and Hungarian versions emphasise the imagery of the beech tree – Hêtre pourpre, Drzewo krwi, and Vérbükk, respectively – most adhere to the primary, literal meaning of the original – Libro de sangre in Spanish, Blodbok in Norwegian, Blodbog in Danish, Kniha krve in Czech, Βιβλίο από αίμα in Greek, and Bloodbook in the planned English translation. The Italian translation entirely circumvents the polysemic richness of the title by opting for a quote from the novel, Perché sono da sempre un corso d’acqua (“Weil ich immer ein Wasser war”, de l’Horizon 2022:57). This choice recalls the numerous liquid metaphors in the novel and reflects the fluidity of the protagonist, as the translator explains in the afterword (Albesano 2023:299f.).

A comprehensive linguistic analysis of Blutbuch would extend far beyond the scope of this article, as the novel’s language is brimming with stylistic, cultural, and semantic complexity. Narrowing the focus to de l’Horizon’s use of gender-fair strategies, these include the use of gender asterisks (especially for agentive nouns) and neopronouns like mensch and jemensch as inclusive alternatives to man and jemand:^[10]

(4a) Ich wollte nicht zu deiner Familie gehören, ich wollte nicht dein*e Nachkomm*in sein. Aber mensch kann nicht heimkehren, wenn mensch sich seinem Erbe verweigert. (62)

(4b) Non volevo appartenere alla tua famiglia, non volevo discendere da te. Ma se respingi la tua eredità non puoi tornare a casa. (62)

In this instance, the Italian translation elegantly employs gender-neutral rewording through an infinitive clause to circumvent the use of the symbol, and an impersonal construction to render the neopronoun mensch. Overall, Albesano’s translation is sensitive to the question of gender^[11] and generally avoids the use of masculine forms when referring to Kim, as evidenced by the following examples:

(5a) Noch heute schaue ich immer gebannt in das Migros-Restaurant hinein, das in meiner Nähe steht. (39)

(5b) Ancora adesso sbircio sempre con trasporto nel ristorante della Migros vicino a casa mia. (40)

(6a) Ich wurde immer fassungsloser. (193)

(6b) Lo sconcerto cresceva. (188)

(7a) Ich bin kein*e Sprachpurist*in, will kein Sprachzerfallbuhu. (229)

(7b) Il purismo non fa per me, niente buu alla decadenza linguistica. (224)

These translations skilfully avoid gendered forms through periphrases or slight shifts in meaning. In excerpts (5b) and (6b), gender agreement – which is required in Italian for predicative adjectives – is sidestepped through neutral constructions; in (7b), Albesano employs an appropriate reformulation to avoid directly rendering the asterisked noun phrase in Italian.

The use of gender-fair language, however, is not consistently applied throughout this translation. In fact, most of the gender stars occurring in the source text are rendered with masculine generics, and some adjectives and past participles referring to Kim are translated to the masculine form in Italian:

(8a) Die meisten Kund*innen sind Rentner*innen, Bauarbeiter*innen, Alkoholiker*innen. (39)

(8b) La maggior parte dei clienti sono pensionati, muratori, alcolizzati. (40)

(9a) Ich ging raus, die Nacht zog mich an einer unsichtbaren Lederleine [...] (128)

(9b) Sono uscito, la notte mi trascinava con un guinzaglio invisibile [...] (124)

(10a) Eine Auswahl dessen, was mich gerade beschäftigt: (140)

(10b) Una selezione di quel che mi tiene occupato al momento: (137)

(11a) ich bin zu einer Überfahrt angefahren (163)

(11b) sono partito per una traversata (159)

While the use of the masculine form in cases like (8b) – though unfaithful, as it neutralises the female and non-binary referents included in the original text – can be attributed to the widespread use of the unmarked masculine in Italian, examples (9b), (10b), and (11b) constitute clear instances of misgendering, as the masculine forms (uscito, occupato, partito) directly misalign with the affirmed non-binary gender identity of the first-person narrator. A more syntactically faithful translation of (10a) – for example, “Una selezione di quel che mi occupa al momento” – would have avoided the masculine form; for (9a) and (11a) schwas (uscitə, partitə) or other neomorphemes would have been more accurate.

A further issue with the Italian translation lies in the rendering of the neuter “das Kind”, which Kim uses to refer to themselves as a child (de l’Horizon 2022:23), as the masculine “il bambino” (de l’Horizon 2023:25). The translator justifies this choice by arguing that Kim, as a child, had not yet established their own identity and thus conformed to the gender binary imposed by their social environment (Albesano 2023:301). However, this rationale is problematic, as Kim repeatedly addresses the child’s discomfort with gender binarism: “In der Sprache, die ich von dir [Grossmeer, D. V.] geerbt habe, [...] gibt es nur zwei Möglichkeiten, ein Körper zu sein. Das Aufwachsen im Gaumen der deutschen Sprache zwang mich stets in diese Kindergartenzweierreihe hinein” (de l’Horizon 2022:17). Kim reflects on the social pressure they experienced – even during their childhood – as a non-binary person, expressing their reluctance to transition from es to er with age: “Das Kind muss sich entscheiden. Die Leute fragen. NA DU. WAS BIST DENN DU? BUB ODER MEITSCHI? Es schaut die anderen Kinder an. Die meisten haben sich schon entschieden. Sie stehen in der Zweierreihe und schauen erwartungsvoll” (87). As an adult, Kim painfully acknowledges the trauma inflicted upon them by binary language while attempting to reclaim their own language and body in a way that truly reflects their non-binary identity. This quest for self-expression – articulated in fragmented, highly experimental language – becomes the driving force behind Kim’s creative process:

Hier aber, in dieser Insellosigkeit, in diesem Inmittendrinsein, im Binaritäts-Faschismus der Körpersprachen, sprechen meine Glieder ein Kauderwelsch, ein zerkautes Elfisch, ein zerbroken Dringlisch, ein in Wirrnis hin und her torkelndes Dazwischen und Damit. Ich weiss nicht, wie ich mich sonst formulieren könnte als: Ich weiss keine Sprache für meinen Körper. [...] Ich stehe in einer Fremdsprache. Vielleicht ist das mit ein Grund für das Schreiben, für dieses zerstückelte, zerbrösmelnde Schreiben. (57)

For a linguistically metareflective and identity-conscious novel like Blutbuch, even partial misgendering in translation is particularly undermining, as it risks obscuring or flattening the text’s critique of gender norms, diminishing the impact of the author’s exploration of fluid identities, and alienating readers who see their own experiences reflected in the narrative. A more inclusive alternative to rendering the neuter “das Kind” might be the use of a gender-inclusive ending, such as the schwa or the asterisk (lə bambinə, l* bambin*), despite potential challenges for readability. Interestingly, Albesano does employ both the schwa and the asterisk in one passage where Kim’s mother struggles with gender-fair language and offers a tender, albeit awkward, attempt to address Kim inclusively:

(12a) Du bist ja ein richtiger Studierter geworden. Eine, Sternchen. Entschuldigung. (234)

(12b) Ormai sei uno studioso. Unə studiosə. Un* studios*. Schwa. Asterisco. Scusa. (229)

The use of schwa and asterisk in (12b) effectively captures the mother’s evolving understanding of inclusive language. Albesano’s choice to allude to gender-fair language in this passage reinforces the notion that such inclusive strategies are recognisable and relatively well-established tools within the Italian LGBTQ+ community and beyond. If they had been applied consistently throughout the translation, they would have effectively mitigated the risk of misgendering and would also have preserved the source text’s linguistic innovation and sensitivity.

One final observation concerns the last chapter of Blutbuch, which is entirely written in English – a language that offers the protagonist a safe space to fully express themselves in ways their mother tongue cannot (de l’Horizon 2022:270). At the end of de l’Horizon’s novel, a machine-generated translation of this chapter, created using DeepL, is provided (334). In the Italian version, the same software was used to translate this section, resulting in the machine spontaneously alternating between masculine and feminine forms when referring to the narrator, inadvertently highlighting the fluidity of gender boundaries in language (Albesano 2023:302).

5 Conclusion: Towards a “queering mode of translation”

The debate surrounding gender-fair language remains ongoing in both German and Italian contexts, with different non-binary authors adopting various strategies to represent their characters and develop their narratives. While Sasha Marianna Salzmann’s Außer sich addresses the protagonist’s non-binary identity and F-to-M transition through a clear shift in pronouns, Kim de l’Horizon’s Blutbuch incorporates a range of gender-fair strategies in a linguistically challenging text, depicting the protagonist’s constant search for a mode of expression that they can call their own.

The Italian translations of both novels engage with the linguistic complexities of non-binary representation, though with varying approaches and outcomes. Fabio Cremonesi’s task in translating Salzmann’s novel was relatively straightforward, as the shift from feminine to masculine forms used in the source text to describe Ali as a means of reflecting the protagonist’s evolving gender identity is easily replicated in Italian. The translator’s challenge of conveying this fluidity in a language with rigid gender markers was less pronounced in this case than in the more linguistically complex Blutbuch. Silvia Albesano’s translation of de l’Horizon’s autofiction, while generally attentive to the gender identity issues presented in the text, employs strategies such as masculine generics, masculine endings, and the male form “il bambino” that inadvertently perpetuate misgendering rather than challenging it. This is particularly evident when Kim’s fluidity is not fully captured, and the translation defaults to traditional gender norms. Despite these occasional shortcomings, Albesano’s approach demonstrates a sensitivity to the overarching themes of identity in the original text, often opting for subtle circumventions or rewordings to convey the complexity of Kim’s experience.

The introduction of literature by non-binary authors into a historically conservative context like the Italian literary scene marks a significant milestone in the journey towards queer representation in the public sphere. Yet substantial work remains to be done to honour linguistic strategies that challenge cis-normativity, and to ensure that translations adequately convey the nuances of non-binary narratives.

For works by gender-nonconforming authors that explore non-binary experiences, an ideal approach would be a “queering mode of translation”, as defined by Démont (2017:168), which seeks to preserve the “ambiguities and potentially disruptive content” of the original text, keeping all interpretative possibilities open. Translators must engage deeply with the text and remain mindful of non-binary identities while navigating the linguistic constraints of the target language. In particular, they should avoid transferring non-binary identities into the masculine gender, often considered the ‘default’ in many languages, as this may cause the translation not only to be unfaithful but also to become depoliticised. Preserving – rather than questioning – the gender binary in the translation of a non-binary narrative risks erasing the text’s social situatedness, thereby “evacuating the ideological inflections inherent to a textual practice like translation that operate in the very spaces where disparate languages and cultures meet and clash”, and ultimately “mask[ing] relations of power in the very act of translation” (Spurlin 2014:302).

A combination of gender-informed linguistics, queer theory, and approaches that highlight the “ethics and social responsibility” of translation (Drugan/Tipton 2017) can foster conscientious translation practices that better balance strategies acknowledging established norms with forms of “resistance” that challenge linguistic and social boundaries to promote change (Wehle 2020:55–82). By integrating these frameworks, translators can not only respect the complexities of non-binary identities but also contribute to the ongoing effort to expand language in order to reflect the diversity of human experience. Such an approach can also help cultivate a more inclusive literary landscape, where the nuances of gender identity are conveyed with sensitivity and integrity, offering readers new perspectives and possibilities for understanding. In light of this, translation can become a tool for both linguistic and cultural transformation – a means of creating spaces where marginalised voices can be heard and understood across linguistic borders.