On “Talented” Being (Unintended) Blanket Praise

When I was about 14-15 years old, my teacher told my class she believed talent was 50% natural and 50% work. She was talking about me. That year, I’d begun shooting off the grading scale in English, consistently scoring 13s. In the Danish grading system at the time, 13 was nearly impossible to get. And not in an A+ way, but in an A++++ way. It was meant to be that way. It was the ultimate grade you weren’t meant to achieve, but which was (almost begrudgingly) given to you in a “congratulations, you’ve beat the system” sorta way.

The point here is this: I believed my teacher back then.

I believed my “talent” was 50% natural and 50% hard work.

Now, however?

Now, fifteen years later, I view “natural talent” and “hard work” as synonymous—not dichotomous.

Being called “talented” feels a lot like your book being called “unique”. It doesn’t actually say a whole lot about your achievement beyond the fact that you’ve achieved. It’s like an umbrella term. It’s safe. It’s easy. It’s a blanket compliment, really. To me, calling someone “talented” feels like diminishing the time they’ve spent honing their skillset to this point. Not only that, but it makes their skill level sound unattainable to others. You put the emphasis on the result instead of the process—on what you have achieved instead of what you did to get there—which can be discouraging to other creatives. And the last thing we need in our creative industries is more discouragement among each other, am I right?

“Talent” is a work ethic, so praise the work ethic.

Praise the expertise.

Praise the niche knowledge.

Nurturing an ethic/expertise/niche knowledge sounds far less intimidating than nurturing a “talent”. It sounds accessible. Safe. Like this is something you could do, step by step, and not lose your way while doing it. It sounds like a hill to cross, not a mountain to climb.

Discourse is powerful like that.

Discourse can make us stumble—or push us along.

The once popular idea from Gladwell’s Outliers (2008) that 10,000 hours of work made you an expert has nowadays been debunked by the authors of the original study referenced in Gladwell’s books—yet I think the concept itself still holds true, even if the exact hours don’t.

Time equals expertise.

time = hard work = talent = hard work = time

And it’s different when people find this time. Some people are lucky their parents help them find it, so they get an early start, but this doesn’t mean their start is better or more valuable than someone who starts at age thirty or sixty. This brings me to my next point.

If parents recognize what their children love and help them nurture it, teaching them that spending time doing what they love is acceptable no matter what it is (and especially if that love is one the parents don’t understand themselves), then chances are the child will grow up to become an expert in what they grew up loving. What they grew up loving will become their field of expertise. Their livelihood.

Their “talent”.

Because they were encouraged to spent time on it.

Because they worked on it.

Because they loved it.

Let me end this self-indulgent blabber on the quick note that sometimes “talent” has a physical element that’s easily mistaken for natural ability. Such as a pianist having large hands, a basketball player being tall, and just being able-bodied in general. This physical elementhas nothing to do with hard work (hard work can’t give you bigger hands, or make you taller, cool as that’d be), so this element often ends up being perceived as natural ability. Which is then conflated with talent.

But I wouldn’t personally call this talent. I would call it having the upper hand. I would call it luck. Would call it recognizing your advantage.

 But that’s just me.

What about you?


Sources:
http://www.6seconds.org/2020/01/25/the-great-practice-myth-debunking-the-10000-hour-rule/

ARC Review – “Parting The Veil” by Paulette Kennedy

Read if you like: angst, romance, mystery, old mansions, independent American women shaking up 1800s Britain, ghosts, divination, female solidarity, family complications, family secrets, ancestral legacy, betrayals, LGBTQIA historical representation, fickle weather, clever multi-layered plot twists, atmospheric writing, equestrianism (pretty horses, really).

Content warnings: suicidal ideation, self-harm, sexual content, murder, forced captivity, assault/mild violence, drug use/alcoholism, arson, racist and colonial dynamics in historical context, child and pregnancy loss, war, blood, sexism and misogyny, toxic power dynamics, implied incest.

Goodreads summary:

Some houses hold secrets that are meant to be kept forever…

When Eliza Sullivan inherits an estate from a recently deceased aunt, she leaves behind a grievous and guilt-ridden past in New Orleans for rural England and a fresh start. Eliza arrives at her new home and finds herself falling for the mysterious lord of Havenwood, Malcolm Winfield. Despite the sinister rumors that surround him, Eliza is drawn to his melancholy charm and his crumbling, once-beautiful mansion. With enough love, she thinks, both man and manor could be repaired.

Not long into their marriage, Eliza fears that she should have listened to the locals. There’s something terribly wrong at Havenwood Manor: Forbidden rooms. Ghostly whispers in the shadows. Strangely guarded servants. And Malcolm’s threatening moods, as changeable as night and day.

As Eliza delves deeper into Malcolm’s troubling history, the dark secrets she unearths gain a frightening power. Has she married a man or a monster? For Eliza, uncovering the truth will either save her or destroy her.

(Goodreads book profile here)


Review:

I read this book in one sitting – and I was completely enthralled.

Paulette’s grasp on prose, character and atmosphere was what made this book for me, giving me strong Daphne du Maurier vibes. She has a knack for picking verbs that both carries the atmosphere of a scene (“furred with hoarfrost”, “the passageway snarled”, “tucked into her eggs”, “walls crawled around the edges of her eyes”), while also providing you with a subtle understanding of her characters without shoving it in your face. Rather, she demands that you pay attention to the details and wait around for them to be explained. Which you’ll happily do. In fact, the mystery of the book is built up around the characters, as is the custom of the gothic genre, and Paulette has created delightfully intricate characters that reveal themselves to the reader at just the perfect pace to keep you hungry for more, yet satisfied with your current scraps.

To continue with the mystery of the book, I was left with definite clues that kept me guessing throughout the book, yet the plot twists were so well-crafted that I could never quite pinpoint the how and the why – even if I could pinpoint the what. I particularly loved how Paulette used twists as diversion tactics, planting an obvious twist for me to focus on so I’d miss the subtler twist hiding behind it. Layered mysteries; that takes skill. I had complete faith that the many twists would make sense at the end of the book, like a perfect crescendo, and I wasn’t disappointed.

Then there’s the romance. While the romance isn’t always at the center of the plot, it remains the emotional backbone of the story as a whole. Like I mentioned earlier, the mystery of the book is built up around the characters, like all good gothic novels, so it’s no surprise that romantic angst is prominent throughout most of the book while the romance itself takes a backseat at times. More so than many other gothic novels I’ve read, in fact. I was far more interested in seeing the protagonist’s marriage fall apart than I was in seeing it come to life. Romance readers should take note that the sex scenes were fade-to-black (or artfully implied in-scene), so if you’re looking for a (gothic) romance with high heat levels, you might be disappointed.

Lastly, there’s the research. So much research has gone into this book and it absolutely shines, adding enough plausibility to the setting that I felt transported to the world and the time within the first few pages alone. And, yes, I had to look up plenty of objects and fashions, which tells me the research is solid. The same goes for the feminist and LGBTQIA elements, which all felt plausible for the time and place. They ended on happier notes, no less, adding a hopefulness to the book that was a nice breather from the heavier themes of assault, violence, self-harm and suicidal ideation befitting of the genre.

If you enjoyed Jane Eyre, Rebecca, My Cousin Rachel, Mexican Gothic, and Crimson Peak, then this book is for you.


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On Writing Professionally in Your Foreign Language

When I first started writing this post, I was full of frustration.

Frustration that people often judge my online presence and opinions based on an American standard because I’m fluent in the language and (part of) the culture, yet people also dismiss English as a foreign language, calling it “easy”.

But I let my frustration cool off and returned with a clearer mind.

First, let’s differentiate between second language and foreign language.

A second language is a language that isn’t the mother tongue of the speaker, but is used for public communication, trade, higher education, administration etc. By contrast, a foreign language is any language other than the one spoken by the people of a specific location (i.e. the one you live in). The lines are blurry, to be sure, but with these definitions in mind, English qualifies as a foreign language for me. Even though Danish children these days learn English alongside Danish from their very fist school day (as with a second language), this is a recent development and thus not my experience. Besides, English is still officially labelled by the government as a “fremmedsprog” (foreign language).

While interning as an English copywriter, I was also frustrated. English was constantly dismissed because it was viewed as the dominant lingua franca of the modern age. This mentality was corrosive, resulting in poor professional copyediting because “well, anybody can write English!”

Did I mention feeling frustrated?

Let’s dig into that.

“But English is easy to learn…”

This mentality is offensive to me. This mentality is offensive to any foreign language learner in any language, trust me, so it bogs my mind that I encounter it so often on social media.

I’ve studied English, German, French, Spanish, Japanese—and they’re all hard. To become fluent in them, they’re all hard. To learn cultural equivalence, they’re all hard. To understand regional dialects, they’re all hard. The Japanese language, as an example, doesn’t use articles, nor does it have a future tense. That’s all derived from context, not grammar. Danish, as another example, doesn’t have the present participle that English has.

Learning within the same language family will always be easier, of course. Learning Spanish when you already know French will always be easier (Romance languages). Learning Danish when you already know German is easier (Germanic languages). Stepping outside of your native language family will always be harder than staying within—when we’re talking grammar and vocabulary.

But language difficulty isn’t solely derived from grammar and vocabulary.

Language has a historical and cultural aspect as well.

To become fluent in a language you have to also know the history and culture behind the grammar and vocabulary. It’s about understanding cultural equivalents, regional dialects and much more. It goes beyond language families.

And, I should add, being able to communicate by speech in one language is not the same as being able to write coherently in it, much less the same as being able to write a piece of fiction on par with native speakers.

During my MA in English & Cultural Studies, translation studies was a recognized academic field for a reason. Translation isn’t “just” translation—not even for English. There are direct translation theories (borrowing/calque/literal translation) and indirect ones (transposition/modulation/equivalence/adaptation). As these theories indicate, learning a language also means learning a history and culture that’s not your own.

That’s no “easy” feat.

During my MA, I was also graded on my consistency in oral English. I was told to choose either British English or American English, and then I got graded on my oral proficiency in the one I choose. Having lived in the US and being married to an American, I’ll tell you right now that few native English speakers bother learning that distinction the way I was forced to learn it as a foreign speaker.

And it’s not as simple as knowing whether it’s “colour” or “color”; it goes beyond grammar and vocabulary.

What is foreign language fluency, really?

Fluency has stages. Levels.

I think this is something people need to talk about more.

Fluency is an ever-developing thing, connected to more than just the language it denotes.

I first considered myself fluent in English when I stopped translating a Danish sentence in my head before I said it aloud in English. Then I considered myself fluent when I began thinking in English at random. Then when I began dreaming in English. Then when I was able to seamlessly code-switch (i.e. changing between languages in one sentence/conversation).

Which leads to another point of mine: how bilingualism creates separate identities.

How every language does this, “easy” or not.

Linguistical Identities

A growing number of scientific studies claim multilingualism creates separate personalities.

I agree with them.

Having lived in the US and being married to an American, my own experience with this is primarily Danish versus American.

I find that the culture of the language I’m speaking highlights different parts of my personality, particular those parts that the culture in question values. For example, I’m fairly extroverted in American and readily engage in small talk/new friendships, but I’m generally very introverted in Danish and avoid interacting with strangers whenever possible. This difference is stark enough that it left my husband confused when we moved from the US to Denmark because I treated my Danish social circle far more selectively than my American. I didn’t do that consciously. It was just how my personality panned out as it developed while I lived in the US.

Now, yes, personality changes/nuances/etc. don’t have to be triggered by language, that’s true.

But the fact remains that my own Danish/American personality shift specifically occurs when I shift languages. And it occurs consistently as I fly back and forth between the two countries.

I suspect part of this difference may also be that interacting in a foreign language creates a “false you”, a more objective you, so it’s easier for a habitual introvert to act as an extrovert because you feel “less real”. It’s for this same reason that I’ve always written in English rather than Danish. It’s easier to be truthful when the truth (in the shape of language) feels farther removed from you.

But let’s end on a note that draws us back to my reason for writing this post:

Engelsk er ikke “nemt”.