On the Opinion of Language-Shifting and Over-Explaining

Recently, while scouring Goodreads for book recommendations, I came across a book review regarding dialogue switching between English and Spanish. Though the majority of the text was positive, the review specifically focused on feeling disconnected by the sudden shift in language especially because there was no translation or context given when it happened. I remember the reviewer stating that they felt confused and a little removed from the story as a result. Initially, I thought the opinion was unnecessary. The example they cited had nothing to do with the strength of the craft or the execution of the story itself, it was all about the reader feeling like an outsider. But then I had to think further on it. Was there merit to the critique?

As writers, we never want anyone to feel confused or lost in our writing, but at the same time, I’m an avid believer in letting our characters exist as they are without needing to elaborate on anything. It is difficult to strike that right balance here—how can you immerse the reader into a world without over-explaining and muddying the story? Whenever I’m considering an explanation—be it a definition, a language translation, or just any type of context relating to the character’s identity—I have to question its purpose. Is the explanation for all of my readers or for a select audience? Does the explanation help or hinder the story? Would my character explain this idea if it’s coming from their point of view? Does the narrator feel expected to explain? Do other elements provide the needed context?

On the topic itself, language is a direct expression of the character’s identity and their relationship with their surroundings. How they speak, their etiquette or slang, their mannerisms and movement behind verbal and non-verbal communication, code-switching, language-switching—these elements all bring a character to life, makes them someone readers can identify with and allows us to see parts of ourselves in them. Writing while giving attention to these elements can convey so much more than just pure dialogue regardless of whether it is written in English or Spanish. Perhaps the reviewer relied too much on dialogue to get through the story and did not allow themselves to identify in other ways. Or, perhaps they were simply hyper aware of their own differences from the character. After all, it is only when we fail to identify with the character and their story that we start to feel that “disconnect” the reviewer had described.

I have read multiple stories where characters have switched between English and another language, usually their native tongue. A Pho Love Story written by Loan Le comes to mind as a prime example of the reviewer’s situation. This story features two feuding restaurant-owning Vietnamese families. The language change from English to Vietnamese doesn’t occur in long monologues or paragraphs, more so in short snippets, greetings, and conversational phrases that work to open up a window into the relationship the characters have with one another—specifically the teenage main characters and their immigrant parents. It’s a dialogue that does not require translation in order to understand it; and Le never supplies us with translations to begin with.

Now I do not speak a lick of Vietnamese and even the structuring of the words was unfamiliar; I will admit to having initially searched for a translation to begin with and probably felt similar to the review in those moments. I was expecting the translations, hoping for it, and then quickly realized I did not need it because the meaning of the scenes was carried by more than just dialogue. It was in the tension between the characters, the force of how it was said, the actual sentence structure that indicated tone and force in the delivery. These shifts between language happened frequently and elevated the authenticity of the story being told. It focused on the story of these two key families, inviting readers into their world without diluting their experience. In plain terms, the story was more tailored towards the characters—the immigrant family and, by extension, Vietnamese readers—as opposed to other groups that make up majority of traditional readership.

I can’t emphasize enough how important it is to prioritize the minority reader over the majority which, in this case, is the Vietnamese family over the majority. This story felt like a love letter to Le’s own roots and her choice to prioritize their experience as it should be celebrated. I think it’s still rare to find stories that mirror my own life—the Desi-American character, the Indian traditions, the cultural sayings and phrases, and so forth. And because of that, when I did find something that felt as close to my identity as possible, like When Dimple met Rishi by Sandhya Menon, I was thrilled to see things like Bollywood celebrities and cultural customs being name-dropped without explanation. That’s how I knew this book was made with me as the target audience because I didn’t need an explanation of what these things were, so why put the explanation in there if not for everyone else?

I’m not saying don’t keep everyone else in mind when writing your story because the hope is that everyone will enjoy and love it. My point is that being part of that minority audience means that there’s still an extra effort we need to put into finding those relatable moments when we pick up 90% of the books out there and they’re not about us - instead they feature non-Poc or non-queer main leads and their story. We may find ourselves in the background or as a sidekick, but the story wasn’t necessarily meant for us. Even though I can understand where the review is coming from, it doesn’t discredit the story and the choices made to prioritize Spanish-speaking readers.

I’m excited to find more stories that prioritize the minority readership. It is only by doing so will we all feel truly seen in stories of any kind.

Edited by Lindsey Huddleston and Lola Lujan.