In Turkish the word literature, “edebiyat”, comes from the same root as edeb, which means “good manners” or “moral correctness”. I have always found this etymological pedigree a rather regrettable one. Authors have endless contradictions and multiple personalities but “niceness” is nowhere among our primary qualities.
In truth, we tend to be self-centred creatures with carefully hidden neuroses and blatantly displayed egos. The archives of world literature are full of anecdotes about novelists and poets who were, willingly or unwillingly, horrible to the people who have had the misfortune of loving them.
Yet, strangely, nice souls though we might not necessarily be, we change while we are in the midst of writing a book. We change, and I dare say we become better people. A novelist is always wiser when inside a novel than when outside. Stories shape their storytellers as much as storytellers shape their stories. We are a different person when we start a book and by the time it is completed, something deep inside has shifted for ever. Stories have an inner power of their own and as anyone who has written a piece of fiction will testify, writers are less the masters than the galley slaves of that mysterious power.
Today, interestingly, that power has been discovered by a plethora of people who have little to do with literature. Print and digital journalism, TV and radio broadcasting, advertising, academia, public relations, popular science, neuroscience – even finance and marketing; all are interested in how to tell a story to a greater number of people.
Novelists and short-story writers have been rather slow to respond to this development. While we keep toiling in our little islands, assuming that the art of storytelling is our birthright, elsewhere stories are being put to use by non-writers. This newly and widely story-centric world could have been pleasantly exciting had there not been an unseen danger underneath. Among today’s debut storytellers are some unexpected figures: the extremists.
Today extremists have discovered the power of storytelling and they are exploiting it lavishly to spread a culture of intolerance. Throughout the 1970s social movements had their thinkers; today they have their storytellers. From Islamic fundamentalism in the Middle East to far-right movements across Europe, from Russian ultra-nationalism to religious authoritarianism in Turkey, sectarian ideologies are offering young people a set of stories to believe in. Via social media and print, real or imaginary stories are being shared by xenophobes of all kinds.
In Hungary, Sweden, Austria, France and Germany, and more recently the UK, ultranationalists are reproducing stories about immigrants who are destroying the fabric of their society. In the Middle East, meanwhile, anti-western sentiments are fed by the myth that westerners have no family values and kick their children out of the house when they reach puberty. Stories have become instruments for stereotypes and dogmas. In a world that confuses “sameness” with “safety”, and “simplicity” with “clarity”, partisans from every side are making the most of stories.
Far-right movements across Europe claim that we would be safer and happier and wealthier if we were all of the same kind. Islamic fundamentalism is brainwashing young people into thinking that they have nothing in common not only with non-Muslims, but also with those Muslims who do not agree with them.
Whether they are drawn with swords and prayers or with swastikas and oaths, the boundaries between “us” and “them” are deepening. But these are imagined boundaries. And who better than a writer, a creature of imagination, to question the mental ghettos that extremist ideologies are trying to trap us in?
Politics and literature do not speak the same language. While politics thrives upon generalisations, literature cherishes nuances. The former is made of solid dualities, the latter of flowing waters. While politics dwells upon how we differ from others, literature shows how similar we are even to those who seem to be the farthest. That said, non-western authors have had a different relationship with politics from their western colleagues. Writers from lands where democracy is still an unfulfilled dream, such as Turkey, Pakistan, Nigeria or Egypt, do not have the luxury of being apolitical. As non-western authors, at every reading we give, every festival we attend, we are more likely to be asked political questions than literary or artistic ones.
But it is not only the non-western author who has to pay attention to politics today. Not any more. When storytelling has been hijacked by partisans from all sides, whether authors will claim back their art and craft is a question that concerns us all.
These days politics is knocking on the door of western authors. Will they open the door and engage, or wait for the unexpected guest to go away? And what if the guest is here to stay? Even the briefest trip to any location in the Middle East is enough to understand that an alarming cognitive gap has opened up between different regions of the world. The number of people who do not believe that human rights, women’s rights and freedom of expression are universal values is sadly escalating. No country or group is immune from the ongoing insanity. Globalisation has not only connected us financially and technologically, but has also intertwined our stories and, therefore, our destinies.
Writers have a duty to build bridges of empathy. This does not mean that our novels ought to be political. We must keep writing the kind of stories we want to write.
Yet at the same time, through campaigns and social projects, networks and community works, we must speak up for democracy, pluralism, cosmopolitanism and coexistence. Writers are solitary creatures. But this is a new century with unprecedented dilemmas. We need to leave our comfort zones and engage with the world from which we draw our stories. We must each find ways to do this without jeopardising our artistic freedom and individuality.
The Folio Prize, as the first major English-language prize that has its doors open to writers from all over the world, regardless of genre, and the Folio Academy, with its diverse community, can become an important hub to connect creative-minded individuals across cultures and borders. If sectarian politics has seized the art of storytelling, writers can inspire a counter-narrative to emphasise our common humanity.
Doris Lessing once rightly said that literature was analysis after the event. Yet today, both non-western and western authors are faced with a challenge. Can we write, interpret and analyse, not after, but during the event?
Elif Shafak is Turkey’s bestselling female novelist. Her most recent book is The Architect’s Apprentice
