Words by

Auður Jónsdóttir

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Art Bicnick

Auður Jónsdóttir responds to Stefán Einar Stefánsson’s author list

Will only rich people be able to write books in the future? These are just some thoughts related to the news report by Stefán Einar, a journalist at Morgunblaðið, about working grants for writers and a list of the top 10 recipients of these grants. It’s a journalist’s job to gather information and present it to the public, preferably in the most accurate context. The way information is processed can be coloured by interpretation and bias. I’m not accusing Stefán Einar of any bias, but in my opinion, it would have been more professional to present these specific facts in a broader context.  

I want to make it clear that I’m not criticising the creation of a list of those who have received the most working grants over time. It’s necessary to be transparent about how public funds are allocated, and given that hundreds of people apply for these grants every year, it’s essential to discuss how they’re distributed and whether there’s anything unfair about it.  

However, looking at the comments section of Stefán’s post, it seems that both the news report and the post itself seem to be fuelling animosity towards the grant system as a whole. Judging from that, one wonders what premises Stefán Einar based his news report on and whether some kind of bias influenced how it was written. 

What I think is missing from this news report is a discussion about how presenting working grants for writers and artists in a way that makes them seem like charity might fuel public animosity towards these grants. This is something that might make people view these grants as some kind of handout.  

The Icelandic language, which holds our culture and society together, might be extinct in a few decades given the current challenges it faces. A language that isn’t written is in danger of dying out. It’s a daily struggle to keep languages alive. It’s paradoxical that people who worry about the Icelandic culture due to foreign influences or immigration are also against working grants for writers who work to preserve and develop the Icelandic language. 

These writers, including those on the list, are not just creating art; they’re also contributing to the development of the language and culture. The same applies to translators who work to translate Icelandic literature into other languages. The value of Icelandic literature abroad is immeasurable, and every person who learns Icelandic is precious for our small language community. 

Given the small size of our language community, the flourishing of literature here is a miracle. Many of the writers on the list have been published abroad and have received critical acclaim. However, unless you’re a famous crime novelist, foreign contracts don’t usually bring in much money. Sometimes the payment is just symbolic. 

On the other hand, some of these writers would be significantly wealthier if they were writing in a language with a larger market. One could also question the system; if these writers, who are widely read through libraries, received more money from the library fund for their work, they might not need working grants. 

But given the small size of our language community, their writings are a constant effort to keep the Icelandic language vibrant. We can understand and analyse reality through the nuances of our language and pass it on to our children, among other things, through children’s books. However, those who write children’s books receive so little payment that it borders on idealism. 

It’s no secret that book publishing in Iceland faces significant challenges. With the rise of subscription services like Storytel and poor contracts for writers and producers, and changing consumer habits, it’s not a given that books will continue to be published in the future as they have been. I heard recently that book sales have halved in just a few years. 

Reality is changing, and it will continue to change. But the answer isn’t to belittle writers who have made a career out of writing in Icelandic. Many have only been able to do this because of the grant system, which provides them with around 350.000 ISK per month after tax (and slightly less after pension contributions). For most, this is uncertain and temporary. Many writers haven’t even received working grants or have received very little. 

In today’s harsh economic climate, it’s almost impossible for single parents to live on these grants for a limited time and focus on their work; it’s a recipe for poverty.   

This also highlights the importance of ensuring that literature isn’t too homogeneous. Among other things, the discussion about how working grants are distributed is crucial. We need to hear as many voices as possible, find literature in the most unlikely places, and ensure that young people have the same opportunities as we did. 

I’ll add that the Icelandic publishing industry is an ecosystem. It’s fragile but powerful. The books that are published create jobs for booksellers, bookstores, publishers, designers, proofreaders, translators, illustrators, warehouse staff, librarians, critics, and many more. A book can create a lot of employment, and its adaptations can be made into movies and theatre productions, creating even more jobs. Yes, books fund advertisements, and advertising agencies create jobs for people who work in advertising. One could go on and on. 

The economic benefits are greater than what can be measured. Each króna invested in literature and art returns at least three times its value. If we want to talk about economic growth. But we can also just talk about the Icelandic language. 

Please excuse any typos in this rant. I’m writing this on the go, and my eyes are tired. There’s a lot to discuss and many opinions to be had, for and against. But we need to discuss all of this. From as many angles as possible. Me, you, Stefán Einar, and everyone else. 

Auður Jónsdóttir has been a celebrated Icelandic novelist, short story writer, children’s book author, and playwright since 1998. Her novel Quake is available in English.