Tromsø – Arthur Hofn

The One Time I Made Assumptions!

In December I went to Norway, Tromsø to be exact, and in a frenzy of frozen excitement I launched the first part of two blogs about Norwegian literature. Half inspired by the fact I love Nordic places as a general rule so I am interested in their culture, hence books are an obvious target for me; but secondly going to far locations and bringing back word of writings to possible new readerships is a good thing for me to include in this blog, I think. On top of that I saw good signs of a literary awareness within the city I explored so very far north and so very cold.

At least for me, the visitor, it takes a lot of effort to go outside, anywhere. It’s not just the temperature, or lack of, but also the oppressive dark alongside the footpaths covered in solid ice, I fell over a few times (right in front of a lady who did check to see if I was ok, I was – just a little embarrassed), everything is just so much more work. It is worth it but you need stamina; the locals ski on the pathways, but they also cycle, uphill on the treacherous ice, now that is skill! But I can get why you would want to just stay inside with a good book.

On Grønnegata, that’s the name of a road, is the city library and archive. Alongside the usual blocky style Nordic architecture this stands out, a glass fronted wave amidst the colourful painted wooden homes and shops or the enclosed offices. Of course I went inside to explore, if anything it was warm in there!

Rows of books all in something not English I find fascinating. I’m so used to fact that English gets everywhere that a shelf of books in a language I don’t understand makes me remember there are secrets from me. Whole stories that cultures know and read and love that are not open to me. Successful writers I won’t come across in the general sense. To open books where the page looks alien, is a brilliant thing, I’ll never really understand fully the intricacies of the shapes before me, even if I learn for the rest of my life. Having said that, after exploring I stood happily by the volumes of Shakespeare in Norwegian and then went and found a librarian of whom I demanded they hand over their most prized works, translated into English or course.

In Part One of this blog I discussed two works from the over one hundred years ago and I said I would return with more up to date novels. I had had a few names suggested to me; being a library I hurriedly went elsewhere to purchase paperback copies. When I wrote Part One I was thoroughly enjoying the first book I got, I will come to this, and so was confident I would love at least one of the other two as much; I was therefore clear to promise a blog of two novels… it’s the only time I’ve promised to talk about a book before I’ve read it and well it’s a lesson not to do that again.

One of the two remaining books I didn’t get on with at all, I did finish it and I liked the concept and style in which it was written, but the actual story it told was not one I enjoyed. I only want to use this blog to be positive about people’s work so I won’t name it, just because I didn’t like it doesn’t mean others won’t, in fact all three are very successful books; taste is subjective so you don’t need me telling you negative things, this isn’t a review blog, it’s a place to share what I like.

The other book really is a case of ‘it’s just not my thing’, so I’m happy to comment on it, and to be honest you can’t have a blog on modern Norwegian books and not mention Jo Nesbø. He’s proper famous as a writer in Norway and beyond, he’s had his books translated into many languages, and films and TV dramas have been made of them; you may have already heard of him. I had before the lady in the library instantly invoked his name when I asked the question, but I wasn’t fully conscious of it. I went and got a copy of one of his novels in English, I had to try it. It feels wrong to be giving my opinion on just one work of a writer who’s proven they are good, very good, at what they they do; the problem is I’m just not into gritty crime novels (Agatha is an exception!, don’t laugh) and for the most part it’s in this genre that Nesbø has made his name. I tried but “it’ not you, it’s me”, I’m sorry. However I can say if you are looking for gritty crime novels and you haven’t tried Jo Nesbø you may well get what I missed, many many people love them.

The first book I’d read was very different, quite absurd and exactly brilliant. Doppler by Erlend Loe is a story of a hermit, so immediately I was interested; but this is so much more. On the surface it’s a slightly odd and humorous work about a man, Doppler, who has decided to turn his back on society and now lives in a tent just outside Oslo. The story gets very silly at times, there’s a whole convention of hermits at one point and Doppler despairs as everyone wants to be alone like him, with him. Then there’s the elk… The story opens with the death of an elk, so it’s not a spoiler. Doppler lives in a forest and needs food, a elk is such a thing, but then there is the calf, and so having killed its mother Doppler adopts the child and calls it Bongo, and by doing this, in a very non-sentimental way, he finds some kind of perspective on what he feels he needs his life to be. Under the silly and surreal there is a sadness, under the sadness there is a confidence, not being scared to question what everyone blindly accepts and to do something about it, underneath this there is an ethical dilemma, is he right to? This is so much more than just a book about an elk. If you are going to read one Norwegian novel (or book about an elk) this year make it Doppler by Erlend Loe.

“Bongo is almost beside himself with joy when I come back, and we spend the rest of the day in the tent. We play board games and have a nice time together and I feel some of the old pally feeling I had at school. You just hang out together. Don’t talk about anything special. But Bongo’s hopeless at lotto. He’s really going to have to pull himself together if he wants me to keep on playing. I particularly chose animal lotto so as to give him a fair chance, but while I cover board after board with foxes and beavers and squirrels and wood pigeons, Bongo doesn’t match a single pair. He’s quite incapable of remembering where cards are. I point them out to him and expect him to give me a little sign such as a sound or a nod or something, but nothing. Not a sound. Not a nod. Bongo, Bongo, Bongo, I say. You may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer. But you are a real friend. And a lovely pillow.”
― Erlend Loe, Doppler

I want to read more by Loe, and will, but I’ve probably had my allotment of Nordic books for the immediate while, because there are many other cultures teaming with literature unread by me. I will come back to the North, both in journey and in words, there is still a whole lot more to discover.

It wasn’t just the Tomsø City Library I found a sharing of local literature; in one of the shopping centres there was a “take and leave” library shelf. I thought of taking one, but I had nothing on me to contribute and I decided sometimes it does me good to not know every secret.

Buy Doppler – by Erlend Doe

Follow My Blog

Get new content delivered directly to your inbox.

Begynner Viktoriansk

Last week I was in Norway. Tromsø to be exact, (I do love that o with the line through it). Tromsø is at the very top of Norway, 217 miles above the Arctic Circle and the third largest settlement in the Arctic. If you’ve read Indoldrum (shameless plug for my novel) you’ll gather I have a bit of a fascination with the area and I’ve always wanted to get as far north as I can, especially at either mid-summer for the Midnight Sun (which I managed in 2005) or the Polar Night. I’ve been various places in winter to the Nordic countries but this trip was the furthest north I’ve ever been, and I loved it!

Norway is an incredible country and on the whole the people are brilliant (with the exception of one incredibly rude lady I came across in a supermarket). Yes, I did manage to see the Northern Lights, or Aurora Borealis. On my first night when I got off the bus and headed to my accommodation. I was very fortunate as they didn’t occur for the rest of my visit. However that night I ended up on a frozen lake watching the celestial display, away from the city lights, it was really cool! (In many ways.)

Of course this is a blog about writing and whilst I’m happy to wax lyrical about my holiday here’s an opportunity to feature literature connected to Norway. This can mean either works by locals or by others about the country. In a future part I’ll discuss some more modern books by Norwegian authors, but for now let me tell you about Three In Norway By Two Of Them, by James A. Lees and Walter J. Clutterbuck. Published in 1882 this was a book about three Victorian gentlemen who take a trip together and the humorous events that happen along the way. If all this is starting to sound a little familiar, you’re possibly seeing links to Three Men In A Boat by Jerome K Jerome published in 1889. As mentioned elsewhere I’m a massive fan of Jerome Klapka Jerome and it is generally assumed he drew inspiration from the Lees and Walter J; as it is his novel has enough original elements that it really would have been just a starting point, Jerome was witty and clever enough not to need to take from others.

In Three In Norway we are introduced to Skipper, Esau and John; eccentrics who plan on roughing it in the countryside in southern Norway in the summer (so almost the complete opposite of my trip… how rude! I’m not eccentric… ok maybe a bit). Obviously a Victorian’s idea of roughing it is very different from ours, the amount of provisions needed for a spot of fishing and hunting, in full dress of waistcoats and all, plus more food then I’ve got at home right now I should guess, is probably what we would call Glamping today.

Whilst seemingly popular in its day Three In Norway hasn’t always been so easy to get hold off, these days it’s available on Kindle and Project Gutenberg. The book is amusing and if you like Jerome’s work it’s well worth taking a look at this one, even if for me Jerome beat them hands down at their own game. Whilst JKJ uses his tale as a frame for all sorts of bizarre and extremely funny stories, this has the trip front and centre. It was still early days for the whole travel writing and we’ll probably never know how much of this is based on a real trip to Norway taken by the authors, although there is a lot of unnecessary detail in the text which makes me think there is more truth to this novel than Three Men In A Boat.

“But presently a cloud gathered over the mountain tops, and thunder was heard rolling among the distant hills; a gentle breeze stirred the surface of the water, and every lazy fish woke up to seek his food. The Skipper longed to go and fetch his rod. He hinted at this, and at last became impatient; but, by Jove! Miss Louise would not go. There she sat and prattled on, charming, pleased with herself, and utterly unmindful of the rising fish and the fretting Skipper. Time kept passing on, till at length her father brought relief by appearing on the shore to call her in to dinner; but then the Skipper had to get his food too, and when he had bolted the humble but indigestible crust and cheese, and rushed out again to seize his rod, he found it too late, as the lake was now dark with clouds, and the fish had left off rising.

Soon after lunch it began to rain like a waterfall, and Esau arrived with a lot of fish— spoils from the Leirungen Ocean, and the result of Spartan indifference to the attractions of woman. There is a shining moral in this tale.”

― James A. Lees and Walter J. Clutterbuck, Three In Norway By Two Of Them

Of course you can’t talk about Norwegian literature without mentioning Henrik Ibsen. Well known playwright, born in 1828 he is one of their most, if not the most, celebrated writers and if you don’t know the name he has been directly, or indirectly, responsible for some things you do know very well.

One of his most acclaimed works is the play A Doll’s House. Set in 1879, in what was then the present day, this is the story of Nora a woman who feels she has practically no control over her life, yet intends to do something about it. In the society in which it was premiered this caused a great deal of fuss.

Ibsen also wrote the somewhat surreal Peer Gynt, which premiered in 1879. Roughly based on a Nordic fairy tale this is the story of Peer Gynt who after upsetting his neighbours has some weird experiences, including going to the Hall of the Mountain King – a troll, and then is pretty much exiled to travel about various places, Egypt for example.

Ibsen asked Norwegian composer Edvard Grieg to write the score for the play. The result includes some of the most familiar pieces of music that even today we come across regularly. For instance, In The Hall of the Mountain King has been used in so many places that it has transcended the play. Countless songs have been based on this, to name but one, Let’s Go To War by the Manic Street Preachers. If I were to say “the Alton Tower’s theme’ you may instantly recall the piece. The other section of music that nearly everyone knows from Peer Gynt is Morning Mood; it’s often mistaken for Spring by Vivaldi. Regardless these two pieces of music are ingrained in to many cultures and all because Ibsen decided to write a very popular, if somewhat strange, play about a man who gets into trouble over stealing a bride.

“Someone has said – or is it written somewhere – I don’t remember where, that if you conquer all the world yet lose your Self, all that you gain is a wreath around your broken skull – or words to that effect. That text is by no means poetic nonsense.”

― Henrik Ibsen, Peer Gynt

When I decided to write a blog about Norway and literature these two examples were the first two that came to mind (and one isn’t even by a Norwegian writer), however there are plenty of writers from this country and the modern day who are worth discovering and reading and so I will follow this up with some more recent examples.

Buy Three In Norway By Two Of Them – by James A. Lees and Walter J. Clutterbuck
Buy Peer Gynt – by Henrik Ibsen