How do you go about writing?
I don’t know. I’m trying to find out for myself here on the farm. With every new book I try to reinvent the bicycle.
My father was a surrealist Estonian poet, my mother is an original poet in a more traditional vein. They have both been literary translators as well and so I grew up quite literally in a desk drawer. An open drawer of course. We have an old desk with big drawers and when Mother and Father were writing they kept the baby in the drawer where it could sit and play. Part of my talent for writing probably came from my childhood. Although, for a while, I resisted the impulse to write since it didn’t seem as if this work was particularly easy, and it isn’t.