As one would expect, the top of the list is dominated by small, peripheral European nations. As a Norwegian, I'm painfully aware that both my country and my language is too small to matter to anyone else. If I wish to interact with people abroad, I will have to do so on their terms, in their language.

And I do have to interact with people aboard. If you have a national economy or a cultural ecosystem consisting of fifty or hundred million people – like France, Germany or Japan – there's rarely a real _need_ to talk to anyone on the outside. There are enough newspapers, books, movies and records being produced in Japan to satisfy the domestic market – and the imported stuff can be translated and adapted without adding too much to the cost for each consumer.

For a country and language with less than five million people – not so much. We produced a total of 20 movies last year, and the climate on this frozen rock made sure our crops yielded only half of the food we actually need. If we didn't talk to anyone else, we'd be bored and starving.

Which regional great power dominates our trade and cultural input has varied over time. Norway was in the Hanseatic League's sphere of influence from the 1300s, and German language and culture had the greatest influence for almost a millennium. The harbour area of my home town of Bergen is still named “the German Wharf”. And my great grandmother told the German soldiers approaching her in April 1940 to fuck off in perfect German.

During and after the war, the Anglo-american economic and cultural influence quickly surpassed the German. The Cold War brought us even closer to the US, despite the American culture being rather … incompatible with the Norwegian.

The stories are similar for most of the other small European countries. But how the English language influences the native tongue varies wildly from one country to the next. The differences are especially noticeable between Norway and Denmark.

Some more historical background first:

Norway is a very young nation-state. From 1380 to 1814, Norway was part of Denmark. From 1814 to 1905, Norway was in a personal union under the Swedish king. As of the 19th century, we didn't have our own written language. We spoke Norwegian, but wrote Danish. As Norwegian nationalism grew during the 1800s, a charming gentleman called Ivar Aasen set out to create a Norwegian written language. He traveled around the country, taking note of how people actually spoke. Dialects vary wildly between different parts of the realm (I haven't seen this much internal variation in any other country), but he did distill what he heard down to a set of grammar and vocabulary.

The adoption of Ivar Aasen's nynorsk (literally: New Norwegian), too, varied a lot from region to region. It was generally recieved well on the countryside. In the cities, the Norwegian upper classes had developed an amalgam dialect combining the original local tongue and Danish. They were greatly opposed to this uncivilized new language, and brought much of the urban working classes onto their team. So for the past 150 years, we've been been fighting, sometimes almost literally, about how to write. Today we have two official written languages – bokmål (literally: book language) and nynorsk. There was a stranded effort in the mid-1900s to unify them, but they have influenced each other a lot. Bokmål isn't very much like Danish anymore, and standard nynorsk is quite watered down.

The result of these struggles is that how a Norwegian speaks and writes is a significant part of his identity. The dialect shows which region you come from and which social class you belong to (or aspire to belong to), and each one comes with pride. Not chauvinism or jingoism, but genuine pride. I live in Oslo, but if I come home to Bergen and show signs of being influenced by the Oslo dialect, I will be ridiculed by friends and family. For real. (c:

Now, back to my point. The Danish language today is heavily influenced by English. The frequency of loan words is staggering. A number of English words have found their way into the Norwegian language too, but an order of magnitude less. I believe this is due to our history. The Danes were never colonized by anyone, and haven't spent much time philosophizing about how they speak or write. We have, and it shows.

(Other interesting tangents: Why have the Norwegian dialects diverged so much? Why can Norwegians understand Swedish but Swedes have a hard time understanding Norwegian? Why has Norway stayed out of the European Union? Why is the English influence of the Norwegian language more noticeable in the capital than elsewhere?)