I finally
saw Star Trek Into Darkness yesterday. It wasn’t by my own choice that I didn’t
see it earlier. The local movie distributor has decided that we don’t need to
see it in this country until in the first week of June. An insufferable wait
for a movie that the rest of the world has seen ages ago already. So when I
noticed the local cinema having a preview of it, I immediately seized the
opportunity.
I loved it,
which isn’t always given with sequels. It wasn’t what I expected; the trailer
led me believe there would be an explosion extravaganza. What I got was an ensemble
move unlike the first, where most of the main cast had meaningful roles that
contributed to the whole. The previous movie was more of a two-man show between
Kirk and Spock. The plot wasn’t terribly complicated, but it carried through
the two plus hours and didn’t cause me roll my eyes in disbelief at any point.
What more can I ask, really?
I predicted
going in that I would like Benedict Cumberbatch the best and I was right.
Others were good enough in their roles, but he was brilliant. A quintessential
charismatic villain you can’t help rooting for. This was made easier by the fact
that his wasn’t the only bad guy in the movie. I guessed the other one
immediately – a consequence of Hollywood typecasting – and since the other bad guy wasn’t
as charismatic as Cumberbatch, I knew how things would end almost from the
beginning. I didn’t let that bother me but just enjoyed the show.
I saw the
3D version. As always, I can’t say it gave the movie anything that I couldn’t have done without. The movie had many close-ups between two people and in 3D it
constantly seemed like one of them was sitting on my lap, which was really
annoying. The compulsory ‘wow’ effects didn’t really work either. So you won’t
miss anything if you see it in 2D. Though chances are you’ve seen it already.
All in all,
a great experience. I may see it again even, once the movie opens here officially. In the meanwhile, here's the trailer.
I’ve come
across a few grammar-related posts the past couple of days. There was, for
example, this test on the BBC news website. According to it, I’m a grammar guru
with 8/10 points. I would’ve got nine, but one question was truly bizarre. I
won’t tell you which one it is so as not to spoil it for you.
Getting a
good score in a playful grammar test may not seem like much to you. However,
English isn’t my native language; it’s Finnish, a language with a very
different grammar, syntax and lexicon from English. For example, in Finnish, you can have the words in any order you like in a sentence and only seldom does it make you like a Yoda sound. Everything I know
about English I’ve had to learn the hard way. Therefore, my writing is
a constant struggle for good language and correct grammar.
Because of
this, I’m a quibbler when it comes to correct grammar in any language.
After four books and a number of blog posts, writing correct English has become
easier. It feels like that, at any rate, though my editor had to make just as many
corrections to my latest book as he made to the first one. Partly the sense of
ease comes from having actually learned the rules. Mostly though, it’s because
I’ve learned to avoid complicated sentence structures. But while this makes for
more understandable – and more likely correct – language, it doesn’t make for
very exciting language. Unlike native speakers, I don’t feel comfortable with deliberately
breaking the rules either. Every grammar error I make is just that, an error.
Of course,
it’s not only the grammar I’ve had to learn. I need words too. Dictionaries
help where my memory fails. Unless I can’t remember the word I want in Finnish
either; that has happened often. A good
thesaurus is a great help too. Often, authors are advised not to use
thesauruses – though I cannot understand why. For a foreigner grabbling with the
different meanings of words, a thesaurus is indispensable. And still, I have to
compromise, as with the grammar.
Because I’m
not able to write the way I would want to, with similar complexity and richness
I would write in my native tongue, I’ve learned to express myself more simply
and effectively. Some argue that simplicity is good when it comes to language
and that could be true; it’s definitely my editor’s adage. However, according
to another test I took, it also makes my writing like that of Stephanie Meyer.
I’m not entirely sure I’m happy with that. Another try states that I write like Anne Rice.
Despite the
difficulties – or because of them – I actually felt pretty smug about my
ability to write books in a foreign language. Then I came across a brief interview with Emmi Itäranta, a Finnish author who wrote the same book in
Finnish and English – at the same time. What had begun as a writing exercise
turned into two books, for both of which she has found a publisher. She tells
in the interview that it wasn’t easy, but writing the same chapter first in one
language and then in the other forced her to think about the plot and language
in more depth than she would have done otherwise. In the end, she believes the book is better
because of the way she wrote it. The two languages are truly different so being
able to juggle between them without losing one’s mind is very impressive.
I haven’t
even tried what she's done. In fact, I've neglected my native tongue and I’m starting to feel the consequences. I’ve noticed that my
grasp of Finnish grammar is loosening, because I don’t write enough in Finnish.
And that’s not good. I think in my native tongue so the language has to remain
as complex as ever, even if I’m not able to express the same in English.
Otherwise even my English will suffer. I’m not going to follow Emmi’s example
and write my books in two languages; it’s enough to get them written once. But
I will have to start writing more in Finnish too. If I could just find time for
it.
Self-publishing
as a profession is so new that we haven’t got established words for calling
authors who publish their books themselves. There are several options though.
Which one do you prefer?
The tweet
above prompted – deliberately, I’m sure – yet another debate on how to call
self-published authors. I’ve followed and participated in a couple of them and
they’re mostly the same. This time, too, some opinions were for being called an
artisan author and some were against it, calling for other options, and some were so
bizarre I couldn’t quite follow the reasoning so stopped reading.
I
personally dislike the name artisan author. I understand that it’s supposed to
convey the idea that we do everything ourselves, by hand, if necessary. I do,
but that’s not true for all. Most of us buy the editing services at least; many
buy the cover design and maybe even the formatting for their books. What
remains, then, is the writing itself, the ‘author’ part of artisan author, and
marketing. And I defy you to find a marketing person who’d allow themselves to
be called an artisan. So why should we?
I oppose
the name artisan for another reason also and that may be cultural. I understand
an artisan to be a skilled craftsman that (often) employs otherwise forgotten
techniques to produce artefacts that, regardless of their beauty, aren’t quite art but products to sell for
a living instead. There is, then, a two-tiered system of artists above and artisans
below.
Making a
living is important for everyone, but if that were a factor when giving names,
all authors would be called artisans. It’s the idea of a two-tier system that
bugs me in this. It brings home so clearly that artisan authors are lower tier authors. Moreover, it gives me a notion that some books aren’t art because of the way
they’ve been published. That it would be factually true – that
my books aren’t very good – is beside the point; it's not the publishing system that makes them so. Besides, there are those among us who
are actually very skilled and deserve the chance to be recognised as such.
When I
published my first book, I found the name self-published author slightly
annoying too, but I’ve grown more accustomed to that one over the course of the
year. It’s a factually true definition: I publish my books myself.
Nevertheless, I like the name independent author, or indie, more. The word
independent has such a lofty ring to it. I’m not dependent of anyone or
anything; I’m independent. But some participants in the Twitter debate
yesterday objected to that one too. According to them, it would disdain
independent publishers. The argument that there have always been indie artists
outside the system didn’t seem to carry any weight. I like it though.
I’m also
developing fondness for a new word authorpreneur. I’m not sure where it came
from, but I find it clever. It seems to have both sides of the occupation
covered, writing and marketing, without being negative. As a neologism, it also
lacks the burden the old words have when being used in new contexts. Of course,
those that cherish the purity of language and don’t want new words – especially
such bastardised word – to be created may find authorpreneur annoying too.
What is
wrong with all these definitions, however, is that they are given to a group of
people by people who don’t belong to that group. It’s a basic tactic
with which majorities always treat those in minority: trying to make sense of the other by giving it a
name; deminishing the threat the other poses by defining and marginalising it. Human race has done the same for millennia. It doesn’t really matter if
the name is accurate or not, it’ll always convey a sense of being labelled for
those thus named; being looked down to by those who do the naming.
We, the authors outside the system, are the
other. We are the different and the not-quite-acceptable. In this case, acceptable
into the community of authors. It isn’t
a unique way to treat minorities in the literary world either. Everyone knows
we have authors and women authors. Nothing has happened to that labelling
either, so indie authors can’t really expect to be free of labels any time
soon.
It’s a nice dream that we would all be called authors one day. Until
then, the best option would be that we don’t let others define us but do it
ourselves. So what would you like to be called?