'Why don't you just paint flowers,' was the condescending encouragement a male colleague gave the young artist Helene Schjerfbeck (1862–1946).
     Rakel Liehu's novel Helene is a fictive biography of Helene Schjerfbeck. Although the writer has given her an inner voice, the artist's thoughts are undoubtedly authentic: one must not be content with being pleasant or conventional, one must break the bounds of expectations and of oneself. This aim is to be seen at its most naked in the self-portraits the artist painted in her old age.
     Helene had the good fortune of receiving tuition and travelling abroad, but all in all she led a rather reclusive life. There are some artistic destinies, for example that of Vincent van Gogh, of which we know that the artists were only elevated, respected and admired by posterity – and in the case of van Gogh, valued in cash at long last. This was also the case with Schjerfbeck, whose work has recently sold for top prices at Sotheby's in London. She, at least, enjoyed some economic security during her lifetime.

The novels of Veronica Pimenoff often deal with demanding social, moral and ethical questions. She does not view this as a 'task' imposed from the outside, but rather as an inner sense of duty, even as torment, a painful force.
     'In writing I explore what I explore, invent what I invent, play as I wish; I experiment freely, without regard or responsibility for others, without caring for destruction, impressions, consequences. In no other situation am I as unrestrained as when I'm writing,' says Pimenoff.
     The artist's own credo must remain independent, and the courage required to take a step into the darkness is perhaps age-old; however, under the pressure of today's markets, it is no longer taken for granted. The power the markets exert does not look kindly on rebellion or alternative thinking; it is only interested in large print editions, publicity, sales and profits, and the entertainment industry does not possess as much ideology or morality as some princely patron of the arts may once have had. The pretentious distinction between 'high' and 'low' art is history, and different genres now feed each other.
     Nevertheless I am not prepared to dismiss the pejorative tone that can be associated with the word entertainment.
     Entertainment does not seek groundbreaking ideas, does not rebel or question. It respects the public's expectations, follows the money-making trends of the present, does not step into the unknown in terms of language, thought or ideology. New is used as a word of praise in advertising jargon, even if it does not mean anything more than a new work by an old author or a first work from a new one. Nothing is said of content.

As a small country with a small language, perhaps Finland does not differ all that radically from the larger literature areas, although by in terms of volume it does belong in the feather-weight category.
     Each new season, the efforts of marketing and publicity focus on one or two writers, one or two names. Publicity in women's magazines, tabloids and television takes good care of many writers in all countries. But under the shadow of huge print editions, literature is being published which strives to find a new path. The problem faced by smaller publishers is making their work known to a wider audience. The arts sections of most broadsheets rarely find any space to review these books. Still, one phenomenon the world over is that a good review does not always guarantee commercial success. Have we come to a dead end?
     A poet friend of mine said: 'We need good readers.' There is nothing wrong with Finns' reading skills. By a 'good reader', she did not mean only the critics, but everyone who picks up a book and reads it. Slowly, devotedly, forgetting all expectations and prejudices, prepared to take a step with the author on their journey into the darkness.

     Kristina Carlson
     Editor-in-Chief