The insecurities take hold again. I’ve worried about my comments. Then I carelessly went on about writing and bilingualism. What on earth am I doing here, writing in English? At university we had access to a book called something like “10,000 English words for ten years of English”. I’d like to know how far I’ve got on that list. I should probably do what Anne Shirley does in the new Green Gables prequel, and learn five new words every week.
But people do write in their non-native language, without too many ill effects. At this point in my thoughts I always mutter Joseph Conrad, to myself. But it was ages since I read Conrad, and I can’t say I know how good his English is (was?). When E, daughter of School Friend came to stay, she suddenly switched to writing in English. Not faultlessly, but it’s admirable anyway. School Friend reads this blog, but complains there are too many words she doesn’t know. SF, wave if you’re here today!
And then there’s Marika Cobbold. Swedish author writing in English, and doing it so well that I go an interesting shade of green whenever I think of her. I went to get her four novels out from my bookshelves this morning, when I discovered it was five. We’re about the same age and come from almost the same part of Sweden. That’s where the similarities dry up. When Marika’s books appear in Swedish, her name has magically become hyphenated with a -Hjörne tagged on. To a Swede this is pretty much the same as hyphenating yourself Murdoch or Hearst or something. Big newspaper.
I have an uncle (there will be a point to this soon) who about ten years ago gave me a pile of old monthly (quality) magazines. I’m still reading my way through that pile, and recently I got to a brief piece on Marika and her first book, which puts the magazine back fifteen years. That’s where I was reminded of the family connections to Volvo as well. On the other hand, none of that makes Marika write good books. It’s something she does herself. In English.
The first four books all have something Swedish in them; a character, a connection of some sort. I used to think I liked that. Then came the fifth book, with no Swedish at all, and I thought it was a much better book. Though that could be pure chance. Marika’s books are well worth a look, as long as you don’t compare us too unfavourably.
I’ll hunt out a thesaurus.
15 responses so far ↓
bookwitch // March 14, 2008 at 10:06 |
I’m not fully awake this morning. Here’s a list of Marika’s books:
Guppies for Tea
A Rival Creation
Purveyor of Enchantment
Frozen Music
Shooting Butterflies
callith // March 14, 2008 at 11:03 |
Your English is near-perfect. Question: Do Swedes prefer UK English, or US English?
Lee // March 14, 2008 at 11:53 |
There’s no magically right English anyway. One of the delights of Junot Diaz’s writing, for example, is how it’s coloured by Spanish.
bookwitch // March 14, 2008 at 13:03 |
Ah, callith, it’s what you see that’s confusingly OK. I see all the things I could have said if only I knew how. When I read what others write I want to hit my head against something hard, as I wonder what’s wrong with my very limited vocabulary. And then of course there are the words you suddenly realise you’ve thought meant something totally different.
Most Swedes go for British English, but it depends where you learnt it and where you might go on holiday. One boy in my class at school went to the US for our last summer holidays and came back sounding like an American, which felt soo fake.
And many people don’t see/hear the difference, so mix and it makes me want to scream.
Sally // March 14, 2008 at 16:54 |
“When I read what others write I want to hit my head against something hard”
Oh, I feel this on a regular basis. Whenever I read anything by a writer I love, I think “Why can’t I write like that?” Whenever I see something beautiful or feel something powerful, I think “I wish I knew how to describe this JUST right – the words I have aren’t good enough.”
I think it’s a writer thing as well as a bilingual thing – a knowledge that you’ll never be quite as good as your imagination. And I don’t think learning new words makes you a better writer, in the same way that reading a lot and writing a lot does – which you certainly seem to be doing …
Laurie // March 14, 2008 at 17:26 |
If I were more industrious (ha!) I’d do a little experiment. I’d copy out some of your posts (but not those in which you refer to your background, obviously) and a few from Americans and Brits. Then I’d very craftily (again, ha!) ask my guinea pigs to tick off for each the writer’s first language: Brit English, American English, English as a second language.
My guess is you’d get one of the first two ticks, and one of my Americans, the third!
Maybe I will try it–another adventure in procrastination not to be resisted!
callith // March 14, 2008 at 17:41 |
Um, I’m also bilingual. I feel comfortable enough in English, but I feel the same frustration at not being “eloquent” enough in my writing.
Although I do believe that brevity is the soul of wit, I wouldn’t mind being a little bit more, dare I say it, daring in my writing.
Some day, some day.
I Am You
bookwitch // March 14, 2008 at 19:16 |
Come on, Laurie, you’re good at experiments. Do it.
While I’m thinking of words that mean something else, I’m reminded of the clothes horse that Son’s university suggested he take to his students’ flat. In the end we had to look it up, to agree as a family just what it is.
Lee // March 15, 2008 at 7:38 |
Now you’ve had me looking up the precise meaning of ‘clothes horse’ too!
laurie // March 15, 2008 at 19:46 |
A clothes horse to take to college?!?! That would be a first. Who needs a clothes horse when they have a floor?
bookwitch // March 15, 2008 at 19:52 |
Yeah, yeah… But there isn’t actually a lot of floor left once the furniture is in, and with a horse at least you can go up.
bookwitch // March 15, 2008 at 19:55 |
I have just had a very kind email from Marika C(-H) about this post. What Marika doesn’t seem to have is umlaut, so nobody’s perfect. Phew.
Sara // March 16, 2008 at 23:28 |
In respect to your post, I started to wonder if the term allophone is peculiar to Quebec – it is used to in the same context as anglophone or francophone, and means someone whose first language is neither French or English.
I can’t see any reason for you to feel self-conscious about writing in English. No more than the rest of us, anyway.
bookwitch // March 17, 2008 at 8:22 |
Allophone to me is a sound that means the same as another. I know that isn’t a good description, but language teaching was never my strong point. I can use a language, but can’t explain why I say what I say.
So, does it not mean that in Quebec? Or does it have both meanings?
Sara O'Leary // March 17, 2008 at 16:15 |
That would be primarily a secondary meaning here in Quebec – also, here we english-speakers are called anglos but I don’t think allos has the same currency, although it has a certain appeal.
I’ve been self-conscious about my French here ever since hearing someone talking to their dog in the park and realising the dog had a better command of the language than I did.