In Iceland, you can see the contours of the mountains wherever you go, and the swell of the hills, and always beyond that the horizon. And there's this strange thing: you're never sort of hidden; you always feel exposed in that landscape. But it makes it very beautiful as well.

I still don't know why, exactly, but I do think people can have a spiritual connection to landscape, and I certainly did in Iceland.

I always knew I wanted to be a writer. I just wasn't sure what I wanted to do as a money-making job.

I was a very imaginative child, and my parents were very encouraging of that. My sister and I would put on plays; I would write my own stories.

People speak of the fear of the blank canvas as though it is a temporary hesitation, a trembling moment of self-doubt. For me it was more like being abducted from my bed by a clown, thrust into a circus arena with a wicker chair, and told to tame a pissed-off lion in front of an expectant crowd.

I first heard the story of Agnes Magnusdottir when I was an exchange student in the north of Iceland.