I was walking down Broadway and bumped into an acquaintance from the time we used to train at karate school. She was surprised to suddenly see me and asked how I was doing. I told her that my first book of poetry had been published in Latvia. 'Is it available at Barnes & Noble?' (the largest bookstore chain in the US), she asked, looking down at me. I explained that the book was in Latvian, after all. We parted ways, but the implied attitude of my conversation partner – that if something isn't published in English, then it can't possibly be significant – was unmistakable.

I have acquaintances in France, educated people whom I tend to meet a couple of times a year in Paris or Riga. Believe it or not, some of them couldn't remember for a long time that the official language in Latvia is Latvian, not Russian. This strange side effect of French or Russian imperial history – the inability to perceive a culture or language that is smaller compared to one's own – is a fairly common phenomenon.
Photograph from oir.mobi used