Writer Elif Shafak never takes the easy route. “World history shows we should be careful whenever anyone promises simple answers to complex questions,” she says, speaking with characteristic precision. Whether teaching at the University of Oxford, lecturing on women’s rights or writing one of the many novels and essays that have made her Turkey’s most read female writer, she is an uncompromising public intellectual. Here, the Honor and Three Daughters of Eve author discusses what we can learn from belief systems that have been dismissed by many, her relationship with the Turkish and English languages and her penchant for goth metal music.

Why do you take issue with the idea of certainty?
Life is closer to water than to stone. Humans learn a lot from opposites. For example, the conversation between faith and doubt is one that intrigues me a lot. People who cannot tolerate ambiguity can be present on both sides of this duality: Rigidly religious people want to get rid of doubt; rigid atheists want to get rid of faith. To me, they’re doing the same thing—wanting to end the conversation. I personally feel closer to agnostic mystics, or “mysfits”—people who know that nothing is black and white.

You’ve often spoken fondly of your maternal grandmother, who was very traditional and religious. How has she influenced you?
As a storyteller, I’m interested in how many women like her, in Turkey and around the world, were not allowed to pursue their education and yet at the same time strongly supported their daughters’ and granddaughters’ education. Also, they were often the bearers of collective memory; oral culture was transmitted from grandmothers to granddaughters. Especially in a country like Turkey, where there is systematic collective amnesia, it’s incredibly important that these women carry this. The Western literary establishment does not always accept different kinds of storytelling though, looking down on them as less sophisticated. I sometimes hear judges in literary prizes saying, “This novel from Saudi Arabia or Indonesia is not how a novel should be written”—but there isn’t only one formula. I’ve always been interested in bridging the gap between written and oral cultures.

Do you write differently in Turkish and English?
Turkish is my grandmother and mother’s tongue, the language of my childhood. It’s very emotional. If I’m writing about melancholy, longing, sadness, I find it easier to do that in Turkish. With English, my relationship is much more cerebral. I feel a little more bold when I write in it because it frees me of cultural baggage. Humor, satire, irony is much easier for me in English.

Turkish, which is genderless and uses only one pronoun, is a completely different way of thinking. When people speak about God, for instance, there is no gender. The genderlessness allows the reader and the writer to use their imagination more, but it makes the task of translation quite difficult. We often talk about what is lost in translation, but many things are gained too. Many books are much better in their translated forms!

What part does silence play in your writing?
In my work, I consistently attempt to give a voice to people who have been silenced, suppressed, forgotten and marginalized and bring them into the center. I remind the reader of their stories, making the invisible more visible. I want to be able to question taboos—political, sexual, cultural. A writer’s job is to ask difficult questions about difficult issues, but not to provide answers. What matters is creating a free space where we can have a diversity of opinions and make the unspeakable speakable. But I find it very difficult to work in a silent environment, so I put on headphones and listen to very loud music on repeat.

People must be taken aback by your taste in music, for example your love of Scandinavian metal bands. What attracts you to this music?
I’ve always liked industrial, symphonic and goth metal because it’s very much about opposites: compassion and criticism, light and a lot of darkness. That high energy is very important to my writing. People are surprised when they hear my taste. When I love a song, I have to listen to it on repeat—sometimes 90 times while I’m writing. The loop, circles within circles, helps me to concentrate.