I write primarily in my mother tongue, English. So why was it important to me to join the Swedish Writers Union? And, once admitted, why did it feel like an honor?
My written Swedish is quite fluent, but it is “bureaucrat Swedish,” honed by years working as a consultant or as a director in a government agency. It is not literary in any way. But writing primarily in English is not uncommon in Sweden, even among born Swedes. (I am an immigrant and naturalised Swedish citizen.) So language was not an issue. As to the second half of my question, that requires a story.
The story starts with the Union’s name. In Swedish, it is Sveriges Författarförbund. In translation, that word “författare” usually falls closer to “author” than “writer.” For etymological reasons, I even find the word “författare” more attractive, as it implies the achievement of understanding. “Förbund” is also intriguing, because if you type it into Google Translate, the first translation you will get is “covenant.” It is an old Germanic word coming from the same root as the English word “bind.” One could say, rather playfully, that in a “förbund” different things are bound together together in solemn agreement. In a “union,” which comes from the Latin word for “oneness,” they go a step further and become one thing.[i]
But etymology was not the driving force behind my decision to apply. The Swedish Writers Union’s role is to represent and support professional authors. To be accepted, I had to (1) prove that I had at least two books published by an established publisher (self-publishing or hybrid-publishing does not count); and (2) submit a few of my books to be read and judged for their quality and accessibility to the general reading public. (Academic writers fall into a different category.)
A letter informing me that I had passed these tests and been voted into the Union by its board arrived in my inbox on Tuesday afternoon, after months of waiting. When it did, I felt a surprising surge of gratitude. A “jury of my peers” in Sweden had read my work and decided that I was, indeed, one of them.
I paid my annual dues immediately. The next day, by chance, I was walking by the Union’s headquarters (they are centrally located in Stockholm), so I rang the bell. I was warmly welcomed and treated to a short tour of the Union’s historic offices. And I left with a copy of their latest quarterly magazine for members, placed into my hands by Union staff. “Författaren.” The Author.
The real point of this story is not about me getting an ego-boost (though I definitely got one). It is about identity and values. I have been a writer all my life, sometimes explicitly working in that role, more often using my writing skills in the execution of other professional duties. In this new phase of life, my aim is to focus much more on authorship. The list of books I hope to write is dauntingly long, starting with the one I am currently under contract to complete, Gaia’s Dreams. Being voted into the Swedish Writer’s Union was a confirmation of my choice to reorient my professional identity, lead with “author,” and publicly embrace my love of books and the written word.
Writing is a form of freedom, a pillar of democracy — or at least, it should be. The Swedish Writers Union is also a strong voice for freedom of expression and of the press, domestically and internationally, and this is something I also care about deeply. I write trade books, not fiction (yet), and that kind of writing is utterly dependent on the free movement of ideas, data, research, opinion, and the physical and digital works that convey these things from mind to mind. I want to contribute to safeguarding and promoting those freedoms. Joining the Union seemed like a good place to start.
Finally, we are at the dawn of the Artificial Intelligence era. When the launch of ChatGPT changed the world in 2022, what did that AI do that was so astonishing?
It wrote.
It was a “Large Language Model,” and it had learned to write by absorbing the work of millions of human writers. AIs have now become so good at writing that many people have started adding typos and misspellings to their txts, on prpose, to signal that they were written by a human. What this transformation will mean to the human ability to “författa” — to compose texts, creatively, thoughtfully, in ways that help other humans gain new insight and understanding — is very unclear to me. I want to understand this transformation better myself, while supporting my fellow authors in protecting their rights and livelihoods.
As posted on social media, I have also just rejoined (after a pause of years) CEMUS, the Center for Environment and Development Studies, at Uppsala University, as a Senior Fellow. In an odd twist, the formal re-establishment of that wonderful academic relationship — which also made me feel very grateful — occurred on exactly the same day as my induction into the Swedish Writer’s Union.
The combination of the two marks a significant change in my professional circumstances, and it happened over the course of one day. Where will it lead? I have no idea, but for once, a literary cliché seems to be the best metaphor.
I am starting a new chapter.
[i] An additional nerdy note on language: etymologically, the Swedish word “författare” has old links to the act of including and understanding, whereas the English “author” grew out of words linked to originating or inventing. In use, both words now mean the same thing: someone who writes books and other literary works. But the historical “overtones” in each word — the nuanced associations of meaning, including which other words share a similar origin and are therefore subtly called to mind — are quite different. This is just one example of why translating is such tricky business.
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