The Fundamental Concern in Translation Theory, from Saint Jerome to the Present, has Been the Relation Between a Text and its version in another language. This relation is often conceived in the Platonic terms of original and copy: the original is viewed as sacrosanct (especially when it is a sacred text but also when it is not), while the translation is seen, at best, as imperfect and deficient and, at worst, as an adulteration, a profanation, and a betrayal that is captured in the Italian phrase traduttore traditore. Conversely, that relation has on occasion also been inverted in claims that the translation can be superior to the original—for example, Jorge Luis Borges's famous declaration that “the original is unfaithful to the translation” (239) or, less radically, Gabriel García Márquez's reported remark that Gregory Rabassa's translation of One Hundred Years of Solitude is better than the Spanish original (Rabassa 43). At other times, the relation between original and translation is seen as antagonistic, the one trying to displace the other, or as its heir and only chance of survival. In this view, the original is condemned to death and oblivion because it is written in a dead language, a rival language, or a geopolitically weak language. Think of the phenomenon that Abdelfattah Kilito cites of some classical Arabic texts—such as al-Harīrī‘s Maqāmāt (“Assemblies”), written at the height of Arab civilization's power in the twelfth century—which seem to have been composed in such a way as to render their translation impossible (17-18). By contrast, notes Kilito, some contemporary Arab novelists seem to write with their translators in mind, avoiding difficult language and obscure cultural expressions that may reduce their works’ chances of being translated into English or French, the gateway to international success (19n7).