Foreign legion / Útlendingahersveitin

The fourth column for Tímarit Máls og Menningar. It’s been a beautiful literary journey to write about the life of immigrant writers. Elín Edda Pálsdóttir and Sigþrúður Silju Gunnarsdóttir: thank you for your kind invitation, editorial support, and translation. I’m grateful to my friends and fellow writers, whose life inspired the articles.

"So you want to be famous in Iceland?” an Icelandic writer asks us, two foreign-born authors, demonstrating mastery of social swordplay. I try to read the smile on his face: not a mean smirk, not an encouragement, nor is it a joke. In fencing, a fake attack like this one is called a feint. One uses it to provoke a reaction and read the opponent. No wonder, he is such a good writer. He knows exactly where his words will strike.

I was excited to shake hands with him, rub myself against his talent. I felt flattered solely by the opportunity to meet the writer. Now, I’m flushed and quiet. He caught me red-handed, eating candy laid out here for others—not for people like me. My mouth still tastes sweet, my lips are coloured, my fingers sticky. Yes, sir. I’m guilty. I’m Polish, writing in English, and with my mediocre Icelandic, I’m pursuing the career of a writer…

Read the whole article online at Tímarit Máls og Menningar.