Will You Read a Story From a Small Country?

How much do you care about non-Anglo-Saxon fiction?

I once came across a quote by Charles de Lint that read: “Don’t forget — no one else sees the world the way you do, so no one else can tell the stories that you have to tell.” That thought resonated with me so much, I instantly ordered “The Very Best of Charles de Lint” and he ended up becoming one of favourite urban fantasy writers of all time.

Now that I am trying my hand at fiction-writing (albeit quite different from de Lint’s — mine have no fairies or magic), I increasingly come back to that quote. Unquestionably there is truth in it — each of us has a story to tell that is unlike any other. But what makes it this much harder for me to pick up a pen and write lately is this: are these stories worth telling?

It seems like most of the fictional stories people care about come from the United States or the Anglo-Saxon world one way or another. There are famous exceptions of course: Paolo Coelho, Haruki Murakami, Umberto Echo, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, plus the whole genre of Nordic Noir, to mention but a few. I read and enjoyed stories of all of these authors, yet it still seemed an exception to the rule to read fiction located in Lagos, Tokyo, Ljubljana or Stockholm rather than somewhere in the US, UK or Canada.

I’ve studied cultural imperialism during my Media studies, wrote essays on the subject and debated it passionately, but facing it in my creative endeavour feels more real. It is no longer about the percentage points of American fiction, films and television programming compared to original local film-making or book publishing that I find worrying. But it is something that adds to my self-doubts when it comes to writing: if my stories are located outside of the Anglo-Saxon world, do they matter?

My fictional stories are based in Helsinki, Finland and revolve around a minority within the Finnish population — Russians. My characters are even a certain minority within that minority — young, first-generation migrant women. On top of it all, I write in English, not Finnish or Swedish, which are the two official languages of the country, so what gives?

I have spent a lot of time wondering if what I am writing is even worth doing because who would honestly care other than a few loyal friends and family? And then I started wondering if it matters — do you need to be read to write? The conclusion I’ve reached so far is two-fold: maybe someone will care and even if no one will, that’s ok too.

What I write are simply stories. I enjoy imagining them and writing them down, and I am lucky to have a few kind friends who agree to read them and give me some feedback and for now that’s enough.

Perhaps the reason I even asked myself the question about the Anglo-Saxon world of literature versus the rest, is that I am used to approaching things with ambition and long-term perspective. This should mean something, this should amount to something, this should lead to something better and more important, this should make the world a better place… But maybe some things don’t need to be any of those. Maybe it’s enough for some projects to be simply enjoyable and teach you something in the process but without the grand expectation.

Sometimes it feels like a waste of time to be even writing what I do: what’s the point? Who will read this? Even if I learn something from it, does it matter? And other times I read through my story and simply admire the product of my imagination. It doesn’t have to amount to anything or even be published. These are my thoughts written down and even if no one or only a few people read them, it’s enough. Perhaps, the desire to succeed and reach masses is also the by-product of the American cultural imperialism.