Estonia, the land of the world’s most avid bookworms

A few years ago, a study conducted by US and Australian scholars found that Estonians have almost twice as many books at home as the world’s average. This is not surprising: for about 50 years, literature was our surrogate homeland, because the country itself was under Soviet occupation and our language and culture under constant threat. Therefore, new novels by Estonian writers were published in print runs of 25-30 000 and yet quickly sold out, even though the number of the speakers of Estonian was around just one million people. Reading was a form of resistance. Even the building of our National Library, designed in 1985, looks more like a fortress where our culture would make the last stand than an inviting house of learning and literary culture.

Times have changed, and so have our reading habits, but we still read a lot, even though at present a recently published novel can be considered a bestseller when it passes the magical number of just 1000 copies. Books are becoming more and more expensive as well, and many readers cannot afford all of what they would like to buy — also because the number of new books published has skyrocketed. And there are many more writers, though very few of them live from writing alone. For all these reasons, contemporary Estonian literature is amazingly variative and it is impossible to say that these or those trends are currently defining it.

If I were to draw a dividing line between two distinct kinds of current Estonian prose, then on the one hand there are books where lots of things happen all the time, and then there are others where nothing much does. These criterion does not mark literary quality nor indicate market popularity. New works by the best authors of both kinds are eagerly awaited by the readers and critics alike. Both types of authors also engage with all recurring topics, such as historical memory, or human relations and social change, or exciting mythical monsters that once governed the Earth… well, maybe not those. But they do feature prominently in the works of Andrus Kivirähk, who is mostly famous for what might be called ethno-fantasy, although some of his finest work is also dedicated to the lives of persons of historical importance, such as a romantic painter from the beginning of last century and an actress from the times when the Estonian theatre tradition took its first steps. Another well-known figure writing books where things happen is Mehis Heinsaar, mostly known for his shorter prose in a distinct magical realist style, but whose first novel about a lost tribe of cannibals has also attracted a lot of attention. Another author with a lively imagination is Meelis Friedenthal, who conjures up fantastic worlds involving figures from history. Indrek Hargla, possibly the best-known writer of Estonian crime fiction, also has his detective, Melchior the Apothecary, wander around on the streets of medieval Tallinn in pursuit of villains of all sorts. The city of Tallinn also features prominently in the works of Jan Kaus, whose lyrical stories — from miniatures to novels — take place in the present times, as do the works of Urmas Vadi, who treats the world of today and the recent past through a prism of grotesque. Kai Aareleid’s works, in turn, provide a distinct female perspective on the historical and social transformations, as do those of Maarja Kangro, who bases her powerful, sarcastic and moving books most often on her own dramatic and even tragic life experiences. My own books belong to the “things-happen” side of our literature as well, thus one novel tackles an imaginary collective religious suicide, some others are based on historical figures, for example an Estonian strongwoman who escaped post-revolutionary Russia, travelled to Japan and actually became a sumō wrestler there.

All of this does not mean that the “nothing-happens” mode of writing has less to offer. One of the most famous names of contemporary Estonian literature, Tõnu Õnnepalu, is probably the most prominent author writing in this style, with many dedicated readers enthralled by his diary-like contemplative works that have followed the success of his debut in 1993 with the first Estonian explicitly gay novel. Another favourite of readers and critics alike is Mudlum, able to conjure up the atmosphere of the recent past and the moods of its people with her sharp gaze and poignant prose style. Peeter Sauter, whose uncompromisingly honest texts cover his ongoing struggle with alcoholism and the resulting disasters in his relationships, is the third most prominent author in this style.

Although critics, publishers and booksellers alike deplore the currently difficult economic situation and the effects it has on literature (and the arts more generally), I’d say that Estonian literature has emerged from the paradigm shift as stronger and more varied than ever before. It may no longer be as central as it once was for our cultural identity, but all things considered, it is clearly a good thing that it does not have to serve as our surrogate homeland any more.