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Et ark uten farge, uten skygge. Et absolutt tomrom. Mørke trer gradvis fram, i form av ord. Det kommer til liv, tar form og taler. Ingenting spesielt har skjedd. Mørket er blitt opplyst, kanskje det har en beskjed til meg: uten maleriene og tekstene dine har du intet territorium, uten historier har du intet hjem. Du er avbildningen av et mørke, og hvis ikke du uttrykker deg  blir du begravd i en navnløs grav. Du skal også vite at menneskelige fantasier og drømmer har rotfeste i vann og jord, og at ikke hvert frø spirer i all slags jord. Skrivingen adlyder de samme prinsippene. Hver penn har sitt eget domene, sitt eget vann, sin egen sol. 

Оригінал есею українською — нижче на цій сторінці.

In front of me is the book Moon over Kinburn, published two years ago. I had written this big historical novel for children in a single night: «Orhan was standing with one foot in the sea and the other in the river. If you might say it can’t be like that then you should visit the Kinburn Spit. This is such an extraordinary place in Ukraine: a strip of land between the waters, where the Dnipro River flows into the Black Sea. At the very tip, this sandy spit is as thin as a single hair, and that’s why the Turks long ago, when they lived in the present south of Ukraine, called it Kilburun, which literally means a thin strand of hair. About seven years ago I visited this place and fell in love with the clearest sea water, dolphins, bird colonies, and occasional silver olives along the coast. I was not really confused by the lack of comfort, civil infrastructure, and good drinking water. Who knows, perhaps if I had lived there for a longer time, rather than coming by boat, I would not have found it as romantic. I was constantly asking myself: why haven’t I been here before? In a word, Kinburn impressed me.