Shakespeare translator Bui Xuan Linh: “Taking the reader as the centre helps visualise what the reader expects”

Was that one of the reasons that prompted you to embark on the Shakespeare Bookcase?

Absolutely.

I found the situation deeply frustrating. Vietnamese readers are, in many ways, at a disadvantage. One needn’t look far—take Japan, for instance. Despite once being a nation that shut itself off from the West, the Japanese government recognised the value in Shakespeare’s works early on. They tasked Waseda University with translating the entire Shakespearean canon within five years, ensuring students had material for study and appreciation. That decision was made centuries ago.

There’s a rather amusing anecdote as well—Germany, proud and culturally assured as it is, has always adored Shakespeare. So much so, in fact, that many Germans insist, only half in jest, that “Shakespeare belongs to us,” not to England. Even France, often at odds with England, was the first country to translate Shakespeare’s complete works into its own language—over two hundred years ago.

The world has made immense strides when it comes to Shakespeare. Meanwhile, in Vietnam, resources remain scarce. That sense of urgency—and a desire to help bridge that gap—is one of the driving forces behind my commitment to the Shakespeare Bookcase.

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But why Shakespeare, and not another great poet, sir?

Because Shakespeare alone deserves to be considered the most influential and significant cultural figure in Western civilisation—particularly within the English-speaking world.

Let’s take a step back in time. During the 17th and 18th centuries, much of Europe—indeed, most of the civilised world—spoke French. Among aristocratic circles, it was the language of choice for conversation, correspondence and literature. But by the early 20th century, French culture began to wane, and with it, the dominance of the French language. English rose to prominence, and with that rise came the elevation of Shakespeare—a name now inseparable from English culture and identity. Some even say Shakespeare helped create the English language as we know it.

More than that, his genius is timeless. I’ve read countless plays—both English and French, from the classics to the moderns. Bernard Shaw stood out to me in 20th-century England, yet even his brilliance pales in comparison. Shakespeare’s mastery went beyond vocabulary; he created living, breathing characters that resonate still—Hamlet, Macbeth, Othello. These names, these ideas, have endured for over four centuries.

Books fade from memory after just a few years, sometimes even months. But Shakespeare remains. Why? Because his thoughts, emotions and insights were ahead of their time. They remain as fresh and stirring now as when he first penned them.

Do you remember the first time you “met” Shakespeare?

It was a long time ago—back in Year 9. At the time, students across the country were studying English For Today, a textbook series in six volumes. In Volume Five, there was a short passage from Macbeth. I still remember it clearly, even though I was only 14 or 15 at the time. One line struck a deep chord:

“Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.”

I read it once, and it never left me. It stirred something in my soul.

So does that intense feeling of youth change now when you stand before Shakespeare?

I don’t think it has changed—only deepened. My understanding has matured, yes, but the emotional response remains untouched. When I was young, resources were scarce, and I didn’t have much material to read or analyse. Now, with easier access to documents, my knowledge has naturally broadened. Yet in terms of feeling, nothing has faded.

It’s hard to describe, but I had an instinct even as a child for what might endure through time. I’ve always loved reading, and there are books I’ve thoroughly enjoyed, but with most of them, I sensed they would eventually be forgotten. When I first encountered Shakespeare, however, I knew instantly: this was a name destined for history.

A loyal reader of an author will always have a favourite character—one whose thoughts and inner world resonate most deeply. For you, who is that figure in Shakespeare?

For me, the character who feels closest to my soul is Hamlet.

Hamlet is elusive—brilliant, and far from straightforward. Or rather, he’s profoundly complex. Take Othello, for example. He’s another great Shakespearean figure, but one who represents a singular, all-consuming trait: jealousy. His downfall stems directly from it. Hamlet, by contrast, is caught in a web of inner turmoil. He shifts constantly between competing thoughts, always hesitating, always questioning.

Remember the moment when Hamlet has a chance to kill his treacherous uncle—the man who murdered his father. He pauses, seeing the man in prayer. Hamlet wonders whether striking now would send his uncle straight to Heaven, and if that would render his revenge meaningless. That hesitation—so human, so philosophical—is the brilliance of Shakespeare’s craft.

What makes Hamlet extraordinary is how easily modern readers can see themselves in him. We are haunted by his indecision, his introspection. Life rarely moves in straight lines; it bends and twists, presenting us with too many paths, too many unknowns. We find ourselves, like Hamlet, caught between emotions—sometimes feeling life is full of purpose, other times so burdened it seems unbearable. “Denmark’s a prison,” Hamlet once said in despair. And in those words, Shakespeare reached across the centuries to speak to all of us.

What do you think is the most difficult part of translating Shakespeare?

Reading the original is a challenge—even for those fluent in English. The language of Shakespeare’s time was not only antiquated, but wildly inconsistent. Scholars have found that even Shakespeare himself signed his name in at least three different styles. Back then, spelling, pronunciation, and grammar varied enormously. In the 17th century, France already had a language academy; England did not. In fact, in the 16th century, there wasn’t yet a standardised English grammar or dictionary.

But that lack of uniformity had its advantages. England, then a relatively isolated island of five million under Queen Elizabeth I, was bursting with cultural vitality. That creative freedom gave Shakespeare room to experiment—to breathe life into his characters with fresh, deeply human observations.

To translate just one of his plays, I often consult ten different editions, from publishers like Oxford, Riverside, and the Folger Library. I also use ebook versions I’ve purchased from Amazon. The amount I spend gathering source material far exceeds any revenue from selling the books themselves.

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Apart from the cosy and simple book launches at the Saturday Café Van Hoa Salon, you’ve hardly had any media activity around the Shakespeare Bookcase. No interviews, no related events. Was this by design, sir?

It’s not really about wanting or not wanting to. The truth is, I’m not very social, and my time is limited. If I were to go out, meet people, and build relationships, I simply wouldn’t have the time to research and translate. I feel genuinely sorry if I miss even a day of translation.

At present, I work three sessions a day—morning, afternoon, and evening—sometimes well into the night. If I allow myself to be distracted, it becomes difficult to finish the work both on time and at the quality I aim for.

So to be honest, I rely entirely on the love and support of others—especially readers. There’s one moment I’ll always remember. Last year, after our launch at Mr Duong Thu’s Saturday Café Van Hoa Salon, a woman in the audience approached my wife and me. She offered to sponsor our group to travel to Hanoi to hold a talk show on Shakespeare. It came entirely from the heart. That event in Hanoi turned out to be such a warm, joyful gathering. Everyone there shared a deep affection for Shakespeare, and that support gave me real encouragement.

The structure of your Shakespeare translations is very distinctive. They include not only the main text but also sections like Critical History, Beautiful Words, and a Chronology. Where did the idea for this presentation come from?

I always place the reader at the centre and try to imagine what they’d want from a translated work.

In earlier editions of the plays, such sections were rarely included. I decided to add a few images for visual interest, and the introduction was carefully designed—moving from Overview, Origin of the Work, and Main Themes, through to the History of Criticism.

The Critical History section is particularly important. Over the years, there have been countless essays written about Shakespeare. Each era brings a different perspective, drawn from prominent scholars in Europe and America. To skip that would be a real loss; yet to present it unfiltered would be overwhelming. So I did the extra work of distilling key ideas and including them, to help readers grasp the essence of the work before diving into the play.

Then, after the translation, there’s a section of Good Words and Beautiful Ideas—like a lingering fragrance, or a scattering of blossoms left in the mind. And finally, a Chronology of Shakespeare’s life and works. Every book follows the same format—a blend of literary enjoyment and thoughtful enrichment.

What’s quite striking is the order of the plays in the Shakespeare Bookcase. Rather than beginning with familiar names like Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet or King Lear, you started with lesser-known titles—The Tempest, The Winter’s Tale. Was this your decision? And why so?

You’re absolutely right!

I deliberately chose to introduce these lesser-known works first. I wanted to show readers that Shakespeare’s literary treasure trove is far broader than the handful of iconic titles we often hear. His other plays are just as marvellous.

Actually, I do have plans for this.

In the first two releases, I’ll give priority to works that are relatively unfamiliar to the general public. But by the second round, I intend to weave in a more familiar title—King Lear—alongside two lesser-known pieces, Paradise Found and The Taming of the Shrew. In the third, readers can expect two classics—Hamlet and A Midsummer Night’s Dream—paired with something more unexpected… and so it will continue.

My hope is that once readers are more comfortable, I’ll be able to turn to Shakespeare’s historical plays. These are more challenging, as many European historical figures remain unfamiliar to the broader public—unlike the well-known characters from Chinese tales and dynasties. For audiences to embrace the historical dramas, there must be a gentle lead-in.

Your love for Shakespeare runs deep. Would you say the Shakespeare Library is more a personal passion project or something created for readers?

To me, the two are inseparable. I love reading and I love Shakespeare, but if it were purely for personal satisfaction, without any intention to serve a wider purpose, then I would consider that selfish. If I focus only on my own preferences, if I pursue my interests without considering the people around me, then I’ll lose my direction—because no one lives in isolation. We live among others. I wouldn’t begin a project if it were solely to indulge myself.

So, would you say Will Durant’s monumental History of Civilisation was also born of both passion and service to the community?

I believe so. Though I wasn’t a professional translator, I was the one who initiated and rallied support for the translation of that monumental series. I had read it long ago—before liberation—through Mr Nguyen Hien Le’s translation, which mainly covered Part I. It was clear to me then that Vietnam needed this book. Its absence would have left a great void.

Internationally, it is regarded as the most respected history of civilisation of the 20th century, translated into 19 languages. And now, we can proudly say that Vietnamese is among them.

After 1975, I had to travel to the United States three times to bring the complete set home. The volumes were far too thick and numerous for a single trip. At first, I worked with the National University Publishing House to begin the translation, but after three volumes, the project stalled due to funding issues. Later, I approached Mr Gian Tu Trung’s IRED Institute, who agreed to acquire the full rights from the US publisher, allowing us to move forward with both translation and publication.

The publishing contract required the project be completed within five years. I couldn’t manage that alone, so I invited fellow translators to join: Pham Viem Phuong, Phan Thanh Luu, Huynh Ngoc Chien, and others. Personally, I translated 16 volumes.

Returning to Shakespeare—you once travelled to England to see a Shakespeare play performed on stage. How did that experience compare to reading the plays?

I’ve only had the chance to attend once, so it’s hard to draw broad conclusions. I’d need to see many more performances to offer a well-rounded view. Still, I believe it’s a vital experience. As someone who writes reviews and introductions for readers, it’s important to witness how a play is staged, how actors interpret the lines, how it breathes in performance. Without that context, something essential is missing.

As a devoted admirer of Shakespeare, how did it feel to stand in the village where he was born and raised, walking the same roads he once did?

There was something rather moving about it. I remember a particular moment while driving from London to Stratford-upon-Avon—Shakespeare’s birthplace—when I found myself looking at the oak trees lining both sides of the road. Those trees have stood there since Shakespeare’s time. The British government issued a strict order to preserve them exactly as they are. As I gazed at them, I couldn’t help but imagine the young Shakespeare, leaving his wife and children behind to seek his fortune in London, passing beneath those very branches. I wondered what the old oaks might have witnessed, what they might have made of that quiet farewell.

Your reflections remind me of the commentary you included in his translation of The Tempest. You note that the image of the protagonist, Prospero, leaving the island where he practised magic to return to the capital mirrors Shakespeare's own departure from his literary success to return to his beloved homeland. In the same way, Prospero’s renunciation of magic in this final work represents Shakespeare’s recognition that it was time to bid farewell to the miracles of his own literary creations.

Reflecting on your own journey—you began the Shakespeare Library project later in life. Do you ever wish you’d started earlier, when the path might have been smoother?

I came to literature late, but I’m content.

For the past 20 years, I’ve been quietly collecting and studying Shakespeare. Throughout those years, I always felt that the time would eventually come. I simply waited for the right moment. All those silent years of research were, in fact, a way to prepare myself—so that when the time arrived, I would be ready and confident.

I have no regrets. Back then, I had a family to care for, and two children to raise well. I couldn’t allow passion to override responsibility. I needed to create a solid foundation for both myself and those I love. And once I saw that my children were grown and able to stand on their own, and I had the right conditions in place, I “retired” from my previous work and immediately devoted myself to writing and translating.

I believe I’m “old enough” now to understand that living solely by passion can bring suffering—not only to oneself, but to others as well, particularly in the long run. Because I laid all the necessary groundwork, I can now sit in my study with a clear mind, undistracted by outside worries, fully focused. I’ve fulfilled my duties to my family. Now is the time to live for my passion. And it’s that peace of mind that allows me to work with purpose and immerse myself in the beauty of literature.

There’s something else I consider very important: I’ve arrived at this place “at the right time”. You see, many retired people carry a sense of restlessness, even uselessness. But if, at this stage in life, you have something to pursue—something to pour your heart into—then life suddenly feels rich with meaning.

Looking more broadly at Vietnam’s reading culture, do you feel hopeful or disheartened?

I remain hopeful—but I must acknowledge that habits are powerful. Today’s youth are caught in a tug-of-war. On one side, there’s the lure of entertainment media; on the other, a school system that neither encourages reading nor nurtures a spirit of discovery. That’s a challenge this generation must confront for themselves.

So, in your view, how do your current efforts—and the Shakespeare Library—help to address that problem?

To put it poetically, though perhaps a touch indulgently, this work is like planting the seed of a fragrant and beautiful flower. It’s not a bloom that appears and fades overnight. As I’ve mentioned, its value will be proven with time. The Shakespeare Library doesn’t simply support study and scholarship—it also brings beauty and joy to the experience of literature in our society.

From this modest seed, many other things can grow. Take performance, for instance. In Vietnam, our acting is strong, but quality scripts are rare. So why not explore Shakespeare on our stages? It’s been done—some troupes in the North have performed his plays—but such occasions are still few and far between.

At the Shakespeare Centre in his hometown, there’s a well-known phrase: “As you read this, somewhere in the world, every ten minutes, a Shakespeare play is being performed.” I hold onto the hope that, one day, Vietnam will find itself included in that global rhythm. I once read a report noting that in Japan—home to Noh and Kabuki—Shakespeare is performed more often than in England itself. That left quite an impression on me.

Looking further ahead, I hope these small efforts will spark other meaningful activities that help elevate the aesthetic sensibilities of readers and of society, especially among the young. When we read and truly enjoy something—when we understand why a sentence sings or why an idea feels luminous—we deepen our appreciation. It’s a magical, fulfilling moment to stand before a work of art and feel connected to its beauty. That, for me, is a goal of real significance.

Thank you for sharing with us.

This article was originally published in the March 2025 print edition of Tatler Vietnam.

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