Sitting in Australia, writing in Swedish is a funny way to make a living. Especially as not one of my books so far has been translated into English. Consequently people here could easily believe I am just making this whole writing-thing up. I mean, they cannot read what I am writing, so how on earth would they know if I am telling the truth or not. (Even though pretending to be a writer seems like a very writer thing to do, and something Paul Auster surely must have written at least one book about.)
As an example, the woman who works in the café where I am sitting this morning (who just referred to me as “Dostojevskij”) suggested that I could just as well be a mass-murder who uses the writer-cover as a front to move freely around town (which of course also would be a very writer thing to do).
Anyway, here is hoping that things might change, as the latest issue of the wonderful Swedish Book Review (whose main aim is to present Swedish literature to the English-speaking world) contains a really great review of Herr Isakowitz’ Treasure.
Those of you who are still unsure whether I really am a writer or if I am just planning my next heinous crime can read the review here (Even though I certainly could have built the web site myself and written a fake review under a pseudonym to avoid unnecessary suspicion. A precaution that incidentally also would be a very writer thing to do.)