Auður Ava ÓlafsdóttirRezensionen

After his wife divorces him, the status quo of visiting his mother (who has dementia), managing a company he cares little about and coming to terms with the insignificance of his life, results in Jonas' decision to commit suicide. Still, as an honest and thoughtful man, he soon realises that to do so at home would mean his daughter finding him and dealing with the consequences, which he is at pains to not burden her with.

Instead, Jonas decides a more feasible plan is to travel to the most dangerous country in the world and do it there instead. And with only the clothes on his back and a small tool box of essential tools (to attach a hook that he intends to hang a noose from) he finds himself boarding in the 'Hotel Silence'. an establishment run by a young brother and sister and struggling to resurrect itself after a recent civil war decimated the city's buildings, population and economy.

This is a quick, heartwarming story which examines purpose, fate, suffering, war and perspective. Jonas is an unassuming, likeable character and his struggle is written tenderly and not without humour and hope. A nice little read from Iceland, 3.5

See the full review and more here!

Two stars, largely due to general confusion throughout. I feel like I have to think more about this one and see if things come to make sense... or if this is just a confusing jumble.

Recommended: not really
Stay away if you want a point to the story, if you want clear reactions and reasons for things, if you want more than rambling conversations. Take it on if you have a group of people to discuss it with, maybe with one who's from Iceland, or if you want to have a kind of literary puzzle to decipher.

Thoughts:
I went into this with and entirely different expectation of what I would find, which jarred me a bit in the first few pages. Going through this, my overall impression is that the writing itself is beautiful despite being quite sparse, and I felt like it really reflected the mood and reality of Iceland. (I went to Iceland, and specifically Reykjavik, last December, so I was able to link places and issues they were talking about with my experience.) That more than anything is what kept me going through it: it was just somehow lovely in the words themselves. This is getting two stars because I feel that a critical aspect of this is just out of reach from what I read, but perhaps with discussion around it, that remaining piece would fall into place. I could see this being a favorite book for others, particularly perhaps with a book club or buddy reads.

As a story though? I'm totally lost. It was told primarily through conversations, sometimes in lengths of speaking that were so long I forgot who was talking or why. One technical difficulty with that were issues with punctuation that sometimes obscured who was actually speaking or what they were saying versus thinking - hopefully that's just an ARC issue, but when it interferes with my understanding of the book, I feel the need to call it out.

The characters' stories all felt unconnected to each other. Hekla was the only constant link, and it felt more like each individual talking about themselves, through the medium of Hekla to the reader. Strange moments were sprinkled in as well, such as when Hekla and Jon John are talking about his difficulties with men and women, and in the middle there's a rare line of description: "Two dogs start fighting in the alley." I feel like it should mean something, it should matter that there's this uncommon moment of description, but I have no idea what it would mean. They were not fighting; they were in agreement. If you figure it out, let me know

This is one of those stories where it's about the characters and their mindsets, rather than about a particular plot or conflict. In fact, I have a hard time pointing out a conflict. I even have a hard time pointing out the ending, besides that it was the last few pages. Why was that the last few pages - I have no idea. I really wish I had someone to discuss this book with, as I feel that would help me coalesce some meaning from it, some significance. I feel like it's there, but I'm just missing it.

Thanks to NetGalley and Grove Atlantic for a free advanced copy in exchange for an honest review.

This quiet little nordic novel was the perfect read to usher in the new year, with its wintery setting and philosophical musings on life and death, light and dark.

Dómhildur is a midwife, descending from a long line of midwives on her mother's side and from undertakers on her father's, so life and death are her daily bread. As a terrible storm approaches Reykjavik in the days leading up to Christmas, Dómhildur comes across an old box of letters and manuscripts in the flat she inherited from her grandaunt, who was also a midwife known for her unconventional methods. With Dómhildur, we slowly uncover her grandaunt's collection of reflections on all stages of human life and nature and meet some of the people around her, each with their fears, quirks, and hopes.

The writing is gorgeous and lyrical but never heavy, even despite the sometimes peculiar sentence structure. This is a credit to both the author and the translator, as it couldn't have been easy to translate this book! I really enjoyed getting lost in Dómhildur's and her grandaunt's musings. There are a lot of themes at play here, from the most obvious ones to subtler ones to ones that most likely would only emerge on a re-read. Life, death, light, dark, parenthood (but especially motherhood), what it means to be human and our relationship with nature all feature prominently. Still, there are many more besides and the more I think about it, the more I find.

What I struggled a bit with, especially at the beginning is the structure of this book. There isn't a plot as such: it's more a collection of events, like vignettes, that prompt further reflections or arise as memories from something Dómhildur's grandaunt wrote. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, but several times it felt disjointed and more than a bit chaotic. I'm not a huge fan of stream of consciousness and similar narrative modes so I had a hard time with this aspect, but if it doesn't bother you then you might enjoy this even more than I did!

Despite that, I enjoyed the slower, more reflective pace that had been missing from some of my previous reads. I liked the writing and the characters and really appreciated how some of the heavier reflections were balanced with lighter moments brought about by some of the side characters; simple, ordinary exchanges that could easily be overlooked but immediately brought up a smile. It's a short book, but it's not a quick book: Animal Life asks, and deserves, that the reader takes their time with it, stopping to marvel at the miracle of life in all its forms.

Definitely recommended to anyone looking for a thoughtful, meaningful read. I'll be looking forward to checking out some of the author's other works!



I received an e-arc of this book from the publisher via NetGalley in exchange for my honest review. This did not affect my opinion of the book in any way.

Can't recall where I read an enthusiastic review of this. To quote myself in an earlier review of something I have mercifully forgotten: ICK. I should have known better after reading this summary: "After a day of being dumped—twice—and accidentally killing a goose, a young woman yearns for a tropical vacation far from the chaos of her life. Instead, her plans are wrecked by her best friend’s four-year-old deaf-mute son, thrust into her reluctant care. But when the boy chooses the winning numbers for a lottery ticket, the two of them set off on a road trip across Iceland with a glove compartment stuffed full of their jackpot earnings.... What begins as a spontaneous adventure will unexpectedly and profoundly change the way she views her past and charts her future." Don't. Just don't. Consider this my holiday gift to you: I read it so you don't have to.

C’è qualcosa, penso, che ancora mi potrebbe stupire nella vita? La malvagità umana? No, la mia conoscenza della cattiveria degli uomini è perfetta. La bontà umana? Nemmeno, ho incontrato troppe brave persone, per aver fiducia negli uomini. Che altro? L’incommensurabile bellezza delle cime, i multipli strati del paesaggio, montagne dietro altre montagne, sfumature di blu dietro altre sfumature di blu? Le spiagge, nere e senza fine, sorvegliate a est dallo scintillio del ghiacciaio, con il suo profilo di sogno millenario, che si muove lento come sotto una lastra di plexiglas? Io conosco tutto questo. C’è qualcos’altro che voglio provare? Non mi viene in mente niente.
(47)

Ci si rassegnerà mai al fatto di essere nati? – aveva chiesto Svanur
(138)

Not for me..,

I read this book for the #ReadTheWorld21 challenge on Instagram. I knew nothing about it, I picked it up at the bookstore just for this challenge, and I LOVED IT. Set in Iceland in the 60s, the main character is a writer and her best friend is a gay man. They are both so hemmed in by other people's limitations and demands. But their friendship keeps them afloat and gives them space to be themselves. Melancholy and lovely.

* I would like to thank NetGalley and the publisher for the opportunity to review a pre-publication copy of this book *

Hotel Silence is a derelict hotel in a bombed-out city that is just emerging from the shadows of war. The population is cowed, there are shortages and the whole area is mined.

Jonas is an Icelander who has had enough of his life. He chooses the Hotel Silence as a place that he can go to where nobody knows him, taking only the tools he needs to end it all. Once he gets there, what he sees starts to give him new perspective, reinforced by memories of home. As the locals start to depend on Jonas, his plans change drastically.

This is a subtle novel about how exposure to the misfortunes of others can allow us to see our own troubles more clearly. It has charm and deals with serious matters with quite a light touch. In fact I wished for a bit more grit and less lightness, given the circumstances being portrayed.

Beautiful and atmospheric.
Book changed directions in the middle.½

A quiet novel set before the age of the Internet which highlights Iceland's isolation. Both Hekla and John Jon struggle to live the lives they imagine for themselves within their native culture. The author brought this conflict to life. I found the ending odd and abrupt.½

Olafsdottir does it again

La protagonista de esta pequeña gran historia es una mujer de treinta y tres años cuyo marido acaba de pedirle el divorcio. Decidida a dar un giro radical en su vida, y tras la profecía de una médium que le asegura que en una distancia de 300 kilómetros ganará la lotería y conocerá a tres hombres –uno de los cuales será el amor de su vida–, emprende un viaje siguiendo la ruta que rodea Islandia. No irá sola: Tumi, el hijo de una amiga en apuros, dos muñecos de peluche, y una caja de libros y de cedés la acompañarán en el camino.

This book follows Dómhildur, a midwife from a long line of midwives who lives in her grandaunt’s apartment and discovers several decades-worth of her aunt’s letters and manuscripts. What little plot there is centers around Dómhildur’s interactions with people in her apartment and at work. The main focus is on her parsing out meaning from the manuscripts, which cover topics such as coincidence, children and childbirth, discussions with other midwives about their experiences, light and darkness, and the meaning of life. This is a very quiet novel in a way, with a strong sense of place. I could almost hear the Icelandic wind in between the sparse-feeling prose. The story tries to capture the profundity of life. The meta aspect, a book within a book, is handled in an interesting way, with Dómhildur’s reflections on what she’s reading accompanying the reader as the novel progresses. I’m curious to read more by this author because the writing itself was gorgeous.½

Un uomo in crisi che decide di porre fine ai suoi giorni e per farlo decide di andare lontano, in una città appena uscita dalla guerra. L’incontro con le persone del luogo lo spingerà a ritardare il suo gesto …
Un libro che mi ha lasciata insoddisfatta, una storia che avrebbe potuto essere molto appassionante ma che, a mio avviso, pecca di eccessiva lunghezza in alcune parti mentre sorvola su altre che avrebbero dovuto essere, invece, approfondite. Una bella trama, piena di potenzialità che invece, alla fine, risultano purtroppo in gran parte abortite; un finale monco che lascia solo un senso di incompiutezza.

"Tú serás la última mujer de mi vida", es la confesión que escucha María una Nochevieja de boca de su marido, un matemático especialista en la teoría del caos que parecía el hombre perfecto. Perpleja por la separación, María debe afrontar también la repentina aparición de su padre biológico. Sin embargo, gracias al cortejo de un joven vecino aficionado a la ornitología y a la amistad entrañable de Perla, sus pasos emprenden nuevos rumbos.

A lovely book about a young woman who wants to find her own way in the world as a writer at a time when women are held back by societal expectations. This is one of those books that doesn't really have much of a plot but does a great job of getting inside the characters and creating an atmosphere, thus allowing the reader to "try on" the characters' lives. I really enjoyed it and would read more from this author.

Award winning Scandinavian author, Auður Ava Ólafsdóttir, writes a breathtakingly beautiful little novel that reflects on midwifery, family, nature, and finding the light. Dómhildur is a midwife, continuing a long family tradition of helping bring life into the world. Her great-aunt was so proud of her that she bequeathed Dómhildurher her apartment in Reykjavík after her death. As Christmas approaches, so too does the winter forecast worsen. While Dómhildurher rummages through her aunt’s things looking for Christmas décor and she stumbles across a box full of manuscripts, editorials, postcards, and letters. Within the pages is mix of musings on animal life, midwifery practices over the past century, and the reflections of her great-aunt. Ann Richardson narrates with a slow steady cadence, that eases readers into the poetic Icelandic prose. While not “plot heavy,” the impending Christmas storm serves as a dark backdrop for the light found within the pages. For fans of Scandinavian literature. – Erin Cataldi

Dýja is a midwife living in Reykjavík. She inherited the apartment from her grandaunt Fífa who was also a midwife. In the dark days of December leading up to Christmas, when she is not at work, Dýja spends time pouring over letters and manuscripts written by her grandaunt which consist primarily of reflections on birth, death, and aspects of human nature.

This is not a traditionally structured novel. There is little linear plot; instead, the book is more of a collection of philosophical musings. This lack of structure is intentional; it mimics the chaos of the manuscripts. Reading the book is like Dýja’s trying to find connections in her grandaunt’s writings. Towards the end, Dýja concludes: “what I had previously experienced as chaos and disjointedness was precisely what constituted the idea behind the work, its goal and purpose . . . the structure of the work, with its peculiar collage of fragmented elements, is consistent with our grandaunt’s ideas about the nature of humanity and their unpredictable behaviour.”

I found that I enjoyed the book if I stopped stressing about trying to find “logical continuity in the writing” and just focused on the grandaunt’s thoughts. She was a woman ahead of her time in her thinking about man’s relationship with the environment; she comments on “the melting of the world’s largest water reservoir, the Arctic ice and glaciers” and “the depletion of forests” and “the emission of toxins and pollution in the seas of the world,” concluding that “the animals of the earth needed to be protected from the most dangerous animal of them all – the human beast.”

The comparisons between humans and animals I found especially interesting. After comparing humans to various other species, Fífa concludes that “the one who calls himself the master of all creatures is in fact the most vulnerable of all animals, the most fragile species, more fragile than a porcelain vase, than a bird’s egg, the most fragile of the fragile on the planet.”

Despite some rather negative comments about humans, the novel is hopeful: “in the middle of darkness, the heart of darkness, there is light.” Though a human, “the most sensitive creature on earth never actually recovers from being born” and “all men are damaged by life” and “It’s difficult to understand another person . . . [and] even more difficult to understand . . . one’s self,” Fífa believes it is important to be courageous and “’to rejoice . . . in our good fortune at having been born.’”

The book will not appeal to everyone, particularly those who prefer a plot-driven narrative. Personally, though I can’t say that I enjoyed all parts, I did find myself reflecting on some of Fífa’s reflections, the most important of which may be that “ultimately everything is connected.”

Note: I received a digital galley from the publisher via NetGalley.

Please check out my reader's blog (https://schatjesshelves.blogspot.com/) and follow me on Twitter (@DCYakabuski).½

The Publisher Says: Iceland in the 1960s. Hekla is a budding female novelist who was born in the remote district of Dalir. After packing her few belongings, including James Joyces's Ulysses and a Remington typewriter, she heads for Reykjavik with a manuscript buried in her bags. There, she intends to become a writer. Sharing an apartment with her childhood and queer friend Jón John, Hekla comes to learn that she will have to stand alone in a small male dominated community that would rather see her win a pageant than be a professional artist. As the two friends find themselves increasingly on the outside, their bond shapes and strengthens them artistically in the most moving of ways.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA NETGALLEY. THANK YOU.

My Review: It's always been true that, to be a success, a woman must do twice as much and can expect half the reward a man would get for the same labor. Hekla, cursed with both attractiveness and intelligence in a smugly patriarchal culture, learns that to be a writer who is taken seriously while also being a pretty female is a Sisyphean task. The 1960s were not yet times of change in Iceland....

Hekla's ambitions lure her away from her rural home and, when she arrives in Reykjavík, her efforts are...Herculean. Yes, lots of mythology referred to here, and honestly it's only down to the fact that there isn't a better metaphor for what she is required to expend. Jón John, her gay BFF, preceded her to Reykjavík because if there's a worse thing to be in rural Iceland than a smart, ambitious, pretty woman, it's a queer man. They take up residence together while he does the kind of labor he can find, gets laid when someone's horny and their wife isn't willing, and ponders with her why they should be reduced to such crummy exigencies for getting mere crumbs of what they really want.

I was ready to give the book five stars until I got to the ending. What happened there, I fear, was me smacking my nose on the sad, true realization that Jón John's deeply ingrained homophobia will, in fact, be the death of him; and that Hekla, in accepting a very terrible and unfair life for herself, has resigned herself to the way the world is. Is this how the book should end? Yes, I can certainly see that it would make the most sense for it to end as it has. I still wanted, on an emotional level, to feel the striving I'd seen the characters enact pay off. I expected Surtsey to come roaring up faster than it did and give the characters new, hot, fire-powered land to live their new, hot, fire-powered lives on.

“Men are born poets. By the time of their confirmation, they’ve taken on the inescapable role of being geniuses. It doesn’t matter whether they write books or not. Women, on the other hand, grapple with puberty and have babies, which prevents them from being able to write.”

No, not for humans as fully, honestly drawn as these humans were, to be given a fairy-tale ending. They got reality. It felt like a cheat; it wasn't, of course, but it felt like one. I will say that the emotional core of the book is sadness and that was not the source of my half-star docking. It was the changes Jón John and Hekla made not amounting to an improvement of their lives. It could have; it seemed to me that, once the Faustian bargain of marriage was struck between them, they could've used that energy to propel themselves to happier endings. But the core of sadness was too powerful. The end of the story is, in this book, really and truly an end. Hekla's book being published? A major achievement! And it's all her ex-boyfriend Starkadur's because otherwise, without his man's name on it, the book won't *get* published. Miss Iceland was beautifully, poignantly sad all the way through. But when a story has one note, it's hard to maintain one's taste for that, and only that, note.

The skylight has misted up in the night, a white patina of snow has formed on the windowsill. I drape {Starkadur}'s sweater over me, move into the kitchen to get a cloth to wipe it up. A trail of sleet streams down the glass, I traced it with my finger. Apart from the squawk of seagulls, a desolate stillness reigns over Skolavordustigur.

Understand your journey, don't undertake it if you're not in the mood for exactly that journey. If you are, this will repay your attention with exquisitely lovely, painfully honest images and you'll be honestly unable to see for sad tears that won't quite fall.½

Rather unusual story about a young man who has fathered a child due to a brief one-night stand. He was very close to his mother who has recently died in a car accident. He lives with his father and a handicapped twin.

Lobbi loves plants especially roses- a love he got from his mother. Rather than pursue an education, he decides to go to a monastery that has an exceptional rose garden but which has been untended for many years. He travels to this remote area and takes a room at the monastery.

He soon gets a call from the mother of his child, Anna, who wants him to take care of Flora Sol for about a month while she finishes her thesis in genetics and he agrees to do so not having a clue what it takes to take care of a toddler.

Anna brings Flora but then decides to stay and they fall into a sort of brother-sister relationship, both loving and doting on the child.

This is a story of a young man growing up and learning not to just feel for himself but to feel for others. Interesting in places, and then rather low-key and slow. Contemporary Icelandic literature.½

Í sögunni Undantekningin segir frá konu sem er sparkað af eiginmanninum á nýársnótt þegar hann tilkynnir henni að hann sé samkynhneigður og sé farinn að búa með öðrum manni. Um leið segir hann henni að hún sé undantekningin í lífi hans. Eina konan sem hann hafi getað hugsað sér að búa með.
Auður Ava Ólafsdóttir snýr skemmtilega samlífi hjóna á haus þegar það er undantekning að maður vilji búa með konu. Við kynnumst furðulegum persónum á borð við rithöfundinn í kjallaranum sem skrifar allan sólarhringinn en er að skrifa svo margar mismunandi sögur um leið að hún skiptir sólarhringnum upp í mörg tímabil til að geta sinnt öllum verkefnunum, svo að ekki sé minnst á hjónabandsráðgjöfina. Get reyndar ekki varist þeirri hugsun að Auður Ava sé sjálf mætt hér til sögunnar.
Aðalpersónan missir fótanna og sér í fyrstu ekki fyrir sér líf sitt án eiginmanns síns og barns en finnur að lokum styrk á óvæntan máta.
Skemmtileg saga með eftirminnilegum persónum. Vel þess virði að lesa.

Kunni vel við söguna. Auður Ava lýsir hér fólki sem er örum sett eftir áföll og reynslu sem markað hefur sál þess. Söguhetjan Jónas fer í nokkurs konar sjálfsuppgötvunarferð þar sem hann finnur sjálfan sig með því að aðstoða aðra. Vel skrifuð og ljúf saga.

Heillandi og ögrandi saga. Auður Ava segir hér frá ungum skáldkonum í Reykjavík sem reyna að koma undir sig fótunum, bæði tilfinningalega og með fjölskyldu auk þess að semja og fá birtar sögur og ljóð.
Auður Ava sýnir skýrt hve erfitt það var fyrir ungar skáldkonur að glíma við fordóma karlaveldisins (og ekki síst þeirra sjálfra) auk þess hve karlaelítan var lokuð og sjálfhverf. Þannig datt þeim ekki í hug að leita út fyrir sínar raðir þegar í ljós koma að efni var að birtast undir karlmannsdulnefni. Einhver þeirra sjálfra hlaut að vera að stríða hinum. Fantafín saga.

Jonas approche la cinquantaine, divorcé, père d’une grande fille, il ne voit plus de sens à sa vie. Il s’envole pour aller mettre fin à ses jours dans un pays qui sort d’une guerre meurtrière. Un court roman, malheureusement lent à se mettre en place et souvent elliptique, l’évocation de reconstructions personnelles et sociales, et du processus de résilience. Doux, introspectif et poétique.½

This was a "coming of age" story of a 22 year old man who likes to plant tomatoes and roses and has a 7 month old child. I read this because the setting was Iceland, but one would not know it from the story. And in fact, the main character left Iceland midway through and went to an un-named European country which has a monastery. Very repetitive. Quite disappointed. 262 pages½