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Editorial Reviews
The Fish Can Sing is one of Nobel Prize winner Halldór Laxness’s most beloved novels, a poignant coming-of-age tale marked with his peculiar blend of light irony and dark humor.
The orphan Alfgrimur has spent an idyllic childhood sheltered in the simple turf cottage of a generous and eccentric elderly couple. Alfgrimur dreams only of becoming a fisherman like his adoptive grandfather, until he meets Iceland's biggest celebrity. The opera singer Gardar Holm’s international fame is a source of tremendous pride to tiny, insecure Iceland, though no one there has ever heard him sing. A mysterious man who mostly avoids his homeland and repeatedly fails to perform for his adoring countrymen, Gardar takes a particular interest in Alfgrimur’s budding musical talent and urges him to seek out the world beyond the one he knows and loves. But as Alfgrimur discovers that Gardar is not what he seems, he begins to confront the challenge of finding his own path without turning his back on where he came from.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
The orphan Alfgrimur has spent an idyllic childhood sheltered in the simple turf cottage of a generous and eccentric elderly couple. Alfgrimur dreams only of becoming a fisherman like his adoptive grandfather, until he meets Iceland's biggest celebrity. The opera singer Gardar Holm’s international fame is a source of tremendous pride to tiny, insecure Iceland, though no one there has ever heard him sing. A mysterious man who mostly avoids his homeland and repeatedly fails to perform for his adoring countrymen, Gardar takes a particular interest in Alfgrimur’s budding musical talent and urges him to seek out the world beyond the one he knows and loves. But as Alfgrimur discovers that Gardar is not what he seems, he begins to confront the challenge of finding his own path without turning his back on where he came from.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
Related Reviews
The Fish can Sing (or, as it is known in Icelandic, The Annal of Brekkukot) is one of Laxness's finest and most intimate novels. It successfully weaves together several narrative threads: it is an orphan's lyrical coming-of-age story, a tragic tale of a "world-famous" singer, and a brilliant description of Reykjavik at the beginning of the 20th century, with its quaint combination of old values (as represented by the storyteller's grandparents) and and more modern influences. As in every Laxness book, the characters are colorful and imaginative, yet always true to life. This book is a gem.
This brilliant work amply demonstrates why its author, Halldor Laxness, won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1955(?). Without much of a plot--it portrays the maturation and awakening of a young man, Alfgrimur Hanson--"The Fish Can Sing" is nonetheless very rich in characterization and aptly depicts life in early 20th century Iceland. As an American who has lived in Iceland for the last two years, I have grown to appreciate Laxness's insight into the character of the proud and independent Icelandic people. I have read two other Laxness books which I could find printed in English--"Under the Glacier" and "Independent People"--and although those are very good, "The Fish Can Sing" is outstanding and clearly my favorite. Humorous, though-provoking and ultimately very moving, this book is one which you will surely enjoy and not readily forget.
I could not help but think while reading this novel of a Frank Capra film from the 1930s entitled YOU CAN'T TAKE IT WITH YOU about an eccentric household headed by Lionel Barrymore full of amiable zanies who stump the frenetic world around them.
Laxness, Iceland's only Nobelist, writes of a young orphan named Alfgrim who may or may not be a relative of the great opera singer Gardar Holm, who also hails from Brekkukot, where the old lumpfisherman Bjork maintains a rambling house on the outskirts of what was to become the country's new capital, Reykjavik. This house is filled with lodgers who get to stay rent-free for no other reason than that they ask.
Alfgrim keeps crossing paths with Gardar Holm and the young woman who wants to become the singer's lover. For some reason, the singer always cancels his appointments to the chagrin of his sponsors and fans; and the young woman, Blaer Gudmunsen, is always given the slip. The unhappy Holm is in stark contrast to Alfgrim, who maintains his balance by being suspicious of fame and content with a future of gathering lumpfish.
In the end, this is an feel-good work of considerable artistry, with a masterful, rich sense of characterization. The translation by Magnus Magnusson is excellent, as befits the man who at one and the same time is both one of the best translators of Icelandic Sagas and the TV host of BBC's MASTERMIND and WHOSE LINE IS IT ANYHOW?
The charm of this book is in its atmosphere. You get a wonderful feel of early C20 Iceland and the characters that inhabit it, from the old-fashioned fisherman who ignores market economics to the admirer of modern cesspits. The age of the novel, like its hero, progresses from child to early-adolescent. A particularly charming thing about this novel is the way rather grimy adult features of adulthood are transformed by the place and its people. The cesspit-admirer, for instance, sees modern cesspits solely as an exciting new invention; and the farmers, when they discover barbed wire, just string it up in purposeless and harmless lines across the country.
The plot involves an orphan boy (Alfgrimur) who might be a gifted singer, his experiences while growing up, and his relationship with the elusive "famous Icelandic singer" Gardar Holm. But "fame" appears to be something petty, the god of Danish shopkeepers (Danes, of course, are grown-up) -- and the "one true note" which Alfgrimur seeks can be attained just as well while singing at funerals in the local churchyard.
What a wonderful book. If you loved Independent People as much as I did, you will love this book too. It has the same wit and some similar themes. The book does have a plot (despite what a couple of other reviewers say), but the author develops his story slowly. Once you're "into it" (be patient!) you will be glad for the pace. There are so many marvellous details here to savor. I just loved it, and plan to read it again in the near future.
Modern Icelandic literature a la Dickens
I have wanted to read a Halldor Laxness novel for awhile, since he is Iceland's national author and I enjoy Iceland and what literature of the country I've read (which is not much). I read a few pages of his most well-known work, Independent People, but couldn't really engage with it. I read a fairly significant amount of Salka Valka, which I someday hope to read all the way through, and really enjoyed it but for some reason just couldn't finish it (it was summer vacation and I was pretty busy, though). So I found myself searching for a Laxness novel I could read all the way through and enjoy all the way through. My school's library has a wonderful collection of Scandinavian texts and virtually all of Laxness' oeuvre, although only a small section of those has been translated into English. I found myself leafing through the first few pages of each of his English translations and finally settled on one.
The Fish Can Sing captivated me immediately, catching me up in its plot from its first line (which is something like "A well-known author once said that apart from losing one's mother, it is most fortunate to lose one's father") and enchanting me with its first chapter and continuing to do so throughout the novel. This is a delightful and pretty easy read, although the philosophical issues it addresses are relatively complex and stimulating. I also have to comment on how well-chosen the English title is, and I think it is far superior to the original Icelandic title, which is very generic and doesn't tell much about the novel itself, although I suppose it is significant. The English title has its origin in one of the poems within the text, which I believe is a sort of proverb and used as a mantra throughout much of the book. Alfgrim, the narrator, wants to be a lumpfisherman like his grandfather, Bjorn of Brekkukot (a farmstead and free-of-charge inn on the outskirts of Reykjavik where many interesting characters come to stay), who is considered one of the poorest men but who is rich in spirit. Alfgrim also finds himself inexplicably connected to the famous singer Gardar Holm, and the two perspectives - fishing and the land-holding and simple lifestyle and the spiritual and material aspects of singing, music, and being a singer - merge in the narrative.
One of the elements I liked about this book is that, as I was reading it, it reminded me of the one of the books I used for my thesis, the Faroese novel The Lost Musicians by William Heinesen, which, I believe, is contemporaneous to The Fish Can Sing (published in the 1950s, taking place a few decades earlier). The Lost Musicians centers around the commercializing fishing capital of the Faroe Islands and how some of its residents, a band of musicians, combat the shadowy forces brought upon their lives largely by the sectarians and their temperance society inhabiting the islands through their music. There are musical references throughout the novels that take music, inscribed in nature, to a higher plane (the novel is also where I gleaned my user name from), and The Fish Can Sing does the same thing. There are many references to ships in each novel, coming and going as a means to improve oneself and seek fame, but in the end what takes on the most importance is that spiritual world of music itself and all that it represents, the deepest wishes, hopes and thoughts (for The Lost Musicians) and finding one's "true note" (for The Fish Can Sing). Money and material possessions are of very little value in both novels, and a world beyond our own takes precedence, as embodied in artistic forms. Both of the novels also center on many different characters in one small area of a small town, providing many contrasting points of view, although since The Fish Can Sing is in first person there is a slightly more narrow scope to the direction of the action. In the end of each novel, also, both the last lost musician, Orfeus, and Alfgrim, sail off on a ship to Denmark to pursue what they may, but one gets the feeling that they will transpose the values of their everyday lives onto their new inhabitance rather than succumbing to the fashion of the times in their colonists' stead.
I would highly recommend this book to anyone who likes "good literature", however you may define that. This book is written by Iceland's most well-known modern/early contemporary author, so I suppose it could be considered popular literature, but it is not overly sentimental or trite. It's a bit like a modern Charles Dickens, or maybe that's just what the translation makes it out to be, but that is the calibre I consider it. You need not know too much about Iceland or its history to fully enjoy The Fish Can Sing - I myself don't know too much - but you will definitely benefit and enjoy it all the more if you do. One scene I find entertaining is the Barber Bill, in which a town assembly discusses whether or not public shaving should be allowed, and if it should be, at what time of day this activity should be able to take place. Luckily, the novel explains a bit of the background so it's not terribly confusing, and the references to saga characters and whether or not it was "proper" for them to shave is an amusing anecdote.
The Fish Can Sing captivated me immediately, catching me up in its plot from its first line (which is something like "A well-known author once said that apart from losing one's mother, it is most fortunate to lose one's father") and enchanting me with its first chapter and continuing to do so throughout the novel. This is a delightful and pretty easy read, although the philosophical issues it addresses are relatively complex and stimulating. I also have to comment on how well-chosen the English title is, and I think it is far superior to the original Icelandic title, which is very generic and doesn't tell much about the novel itself, although I suppose it is significant. The English title has its origin in one of the poems within the text, which I believe is a sort of proverb and used as a mantra throughout much of the book. Alfgrim, the narrator, wants to be a lumpfisherman like his grandfather, Bjorn of Brekkukot (a farmstead and free-of-charge inn on the outskirts of Reykjavik where many interesting characters come to stay), who is considered one of the poorest men but who is rich in spirit. Alfgrim also finds himself inexplicably connected to the famous singer Gardar Holm, and the two perspectives - fishing and the land-holding and simple lifestyle and the spiritual and material aspects of singing, music, and being a singer - merge in the narrative.
One of the elements I liked about this book is that, as I was reading it, it reminded me of the one of the books I used for my thesis, the Faroese novel The Lost Musicians by William Heinesen, which, I believe, is contemporaneous to The Fish Can Sing (published in the 1950s, taking place a few decades earlier). The Lost Musicians centers around the commercializing fishing capital of the Faroe Islands and how some of its residents, a band of musicians, combat the shadowy forces brought upon their lives largely by the sectarians and their temperance society inhabiting the islands through their music. There are musical references throughout the novels that take music, inscribed in nature, to a higher plane (the novel is also where I gleaned my user name from), and The Fish Can Sing does the same thing. There are many references to ships in each novel, coming and going as a means to improve oneself and seek fame, but in the end what takes on the most importance is that spiritual world of music itself and all that it represents, the deepest wishes, hopes and thoughts (for The Lost Musicians) and finding one's "true note" (for The Fish Can Sing). Money and material possessions are of very little value in both novels, and a world beyond our own takes precedence, as embodied in artistic forms. Both of the novels also center on many different characters in one small area of a small town, providing many contrasting points of view, although since The Fish Can Sing is in first person there is a slightly more narrow scope to the direction of the action. In the end of each novel, also, both the last lost musician, Orfeus, and Alfgrim, sail off on a ship to Denmark to pursue what they may, but one gets the feeling that they will transpose the values of their everyday lives onto their new inhabitance rather than succumbing to the fashion of the times in their colonists' stead.
I would highly recommend this book to anyone who likes "good literature", however you may define that. This book is written by Iceland's most well-known modern/early contemporary author, so I suppose it could be considered popular literature, but it is not overly sentimental or trite. It's a bit like a modern Charles Dickens, or maybe that's just what the translation makes it out to be, but that is the calibre I consider it. You need not know too much about Iceland or its history to fully enjoy The Fish Can Sing - I myself don't know too much - but you will definitely benefit and enjoy it all the more if you do. One scene I find entertaining is the Barber Bill, in which a town assembly discusses whether or not public shaving should be allowed, and if it should be, at what time of day this activity should be able to take place. Luckily, the novel explains a bit of the background so it's not terribly confusing, and the references to saga characters and whether or not it was "proper" for them to shave is an amusing anecdote.
Laxness Could Sing As Well as Growl...
...and this is the one of his sixty novels in which he sings most whimsically and lyrically, somehow transforming his usual deep pessimism into an affirmation of the vigorous and unmaterialistic life of his beloved/detested Iceland. This is a light-hearted, funny book in its sardonic Viking way. It was the first Laxness I read, and it would be a very good choice for anyone who doesn't know the work of the Nobel Prize winner - one they got right! It's a story of a boy and an old man... and aren't a huge number of the world's most touching stories exactly that, stories revealing each of our starts and finishes? It's also quite a travelogue; I'll bet more people plan vacations in Iceland after reading this book than after any amount of brochures and travel agency flyers.
I haven't just finished it, I confess. I read it some ten years ago, and then searched out every novel of Laxness I could find in English or Swedish. Laxness ranks for me among the top five novelists of the 2oth Century. I'm reviewing this now because I'm reading the Penguin edition of Gisli Surson's Saga, and I can't help thinking of the richness of the literary tradition of the people on that Ultima Thule island of fire and ice.
I haven't just finished it, I confess. I read it some ten years ago, and then searched out every novel of Laxness I could find in English or Swedish. Laxness ranks for me among the top five novelists of the 2oth Century. I'm reviewing this now because I'm reading the Penguin edition of Gisli Surson's Saga, and I can't help thinking of the richness of the literary tradition of the people on that Ultima Thule island of fire and ice.
This is a book which can be well described in one word as Charming. My dear friends, this is the story of a boy growing up in an iceland. the boy lives with his grandparents who are from the 'Byorn Barcocot man' tribe - it's charming already. also he falls in love and learns to sing from the well known icelandic singer 'Gerhard Holm' it has no linear narrative but a lot of charming, astounding, delicate little stories told and interwined in a naive and beautiful way of simplicity and delicateness. It's a book to grow up with - but you can well read it as a grown up man.
The Fish can Sing (originally published in Icelandic in 1957 as Brekkukotsannáll) is, for most readers, probably the most accessible Halldór Laxness novel. This coming-of-age story centers on the orphan Álfgrímur and his relationship to his very small world- indeed, almost all of the action takes place within a radius of about 2000 meters! This small area is, however, rich in characterization and momentous events. Each of the episodic 41 chapters exposes Álfgrímur to some new lesson about life; lessons which he takes to heart as he comes to grips with the modern world and his role in it. Gardar Holm, a "world famous" singer who may be Álfgrímur's father, appears from time to time- in a sense he represents Laxness himself- a world traveler who is not exactly what he seems. Álfgrímur may be thought of as personifying Iceland at the turn of the twentieth century- waking up from a solitary existence, ready to go out and make a mark in the world. Gardar's talks with Álfgrímur exist with several levels of meaning- personal, artistic, political, moral and emotional.
The tone of the book is generally lighthearted and is quite funny at times. The characters who drift in and out of Álfgrímur's life ground it. Their faults and foibles reveal basic human dignities. All in all a wonderful book, the translation (by the esteemed Magnus Magnussson) seems to capture Laxness' deceptively simple style; certainly well enough to completely charm this reader- for the third time!
The tone of the book is generally lighthearted and is quite funny at times. The characters who drift in and out of Álfgrímur's life ground it. Their faults and foibles reveal basic human dignities. All in all a wonderful book, the translation (by the esteemed Magnus Magnussson) seems to capture Laxness' deceptively simple style; certainly well enough to completely charm this reader- for the third time!
The Fish Can Sing (Vintage International) is a lovely coming-of age tale from one of my most beloved storytellers and revered authors of contemporary world literature, Halldor Laxness.
The Fish Can Sing (Vintage International) is a deceptively simple tale of a young orphan named Alfgrimur. The infant Alfgrimur, abandoned by a mother who immigrated to America, is adopted and raised by a sweet and very endearing elderly couple in their simple turf cottage on a piece of land known as Brekkukot, later to become a part of the future capitol of Iceland, Reykjavik. The old man is Bjorn, a wise and honest fisherman, and he and his wife provide an idyllic childhood for the orphan. They also give haven to an eclectic group of Icelanders who are much like themselves in the old Icelandic ways. They are eccentric, they are kind, they are generous, they are dignified, and they represent a culture of modest, rustic Icelanders of a simple era which is about to pass into obscurity.
While The Fish Can Sing (Vintage International) is Alfgrimur's charming come-of-age story, it is also a coming-of age story for the country of Iceland. Below the shimmering surface of The Fish Can Sing (Vintage International) is an Iceland in transition, a country about to claim its independence from Denmark and take its place in a world of culture and science. Set in the time of the Belle Epoque in Europe, The Fish Can Sing (Vintage International) is beautifully layered to represent the belle epoque of both Alfgrimur and Iceland as well.
Laxness with his beautifully fluid prose blends his love for his homeland with a wonderful, flowing narrative, told in the first person by Alfgrimur. With light irony and dark humor, Alfgrimur's voice is simple and unpretentious yet ever profound, bringing into rich and vivid contrast the old and the young, the experienced and the innocent, the simple and the complex, the pastoral and the cosmopolitan, the traditional and the modern.
Rather than being driven primarily by plot, The Fish Can Sing (Vintage International) is more character driven. And all is not as it appears. A mysterious man named Gardar enters the story to become a pivotal influence on Alfgrimur. Gardar and Alfgrimur have a relationship much more complicated than it appears. Gardar often exclaims that Alfgrimur is a reflection of himself and while taking these the two characters and their complex relationship to another level, one can wonder if Laxness was not depicting himself. It all makes for a delightful reading experience!
Laxness, born near Reykjavik, Iceland in 1902 was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1955. I have no Icelandic background or heritage but one need not be of Icelandic birth or ancestry to appreciate this great master of the Scandinavian tradition of modern literature. Laxness transcends language and literary form with a timeless, universal reach. His stories interpret the complexities of the twentieth century world he knew during his lifetime. Although he died in 1998, his literary culture endures and every piece of his translated work that I have read is a real treasure.
The Fish Can Sing (Vintage International) is a deceptively simple tale of a young orphan named Alfgrimur. The infant Alfgrimur, abandoned by a mother who immigrated to America, is adopted and raised by a sweet and very endearing elderly couple in their simple turf cottage on a piece of land known as Brekkukot, later to become a part of the future capitol of Iceland, Reykjavik. The old man is Bjorn, a wise and honest fisherman, and he and his wife provide an idyllic childhood for the orphan. They also give haven to an eclectic group of Icelanders who are much like themselves in the old Icelandic ways. They are eccentric, they are kind, they are generous, they are dignified, and they represent a culture of modest, rustic Icelanders of a simple era which is about to pass into obscurity.
While The Fish Can Sing (Vintage International) is Alfgrimur's charming come-of-age story, it is also a coming-of age story for the country of Iceland. Below the shimmering surface of The Fish Can Sing (Vintage International) is an Iceland in transition, a country about to claim its independence from Denmark and take its place in a world of culture and science. Set in the time of the Belle Epoque in Europe, The Fish Can Sing (Vintage International) is beautifully layered to represent the belle epoque of both Alfgrimur and Iceland as well.
Laxness with his beautifully fluid prose blends his love for his homeland with a wonderful, flowing narrative, told in the first person by Alfgrimur. With light irony and dark humor, Alfgrimur's voice is simple and unpretentious yet ever profound, bringing into rich and vivid contrast the old and the young, the experienced and the innocent, the simple and the complex, the pastoral and the cosmopolitan, the traditional and the modern.
Rather than being driven primarily by plot, The Fish Can Sing (Vintage International) is more character driven. And all is not as it appears. A mysterious man named Gardar enters the story to become a pivotal influence on Alfgrimur. Gardar and Alfgrimur have a relationship much more complicated than it appears. Gardar often exclaims that Alfgrimur is a reflection of himself and while taking these the two characters and their complex relationship to another level, one can wonder if Laxness was not depicting himself. It all makes for a delightful reading experience!
Laxness, born near Reykjavik, Iceland in 1902 was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1955. I have no Icelandic background or heritage but one need not be of Icelandic birth or ancestry to appreciate this great master of the Scandinavian tradition of modern literature. Laxness transcends language and literary form with a timeless, universal reach. His stories interpret the complexities of the twentieth century world he knew during his lifetime. Although he died in 1998, his literary culture endures and every piece of his translated work that I have read is a real treasure.
"David Copperfield" of Iceland, only more charming
This is a book I picked up out of idle curiosity about the most famous modern writer of the land of the Vikings, and then couldn't put down, staying up late and neglecting work to finish it. It's terribly quotable and wise. It is about the life, from birth to age 18, of the fatherless, motherless Alfgrimur of Brekkukot, who has the good luck to be raised by two of the kindest, wisest people in the world, his "grandmother" and "grandfather." (Later in life he finds out they are not even married or related.) They operate a sort of free hostel for the down and out of a still agricultural, poverty-stricken, but literate, tradition-revering, and immensely decent culture. The book is full of love for the quirky, humorous, unpretentious Icelanders of the Danish colonial period, and so moving my eyes were full of tears as I finished it.
The boy Alfgrimur's childhood is overshadowed by the fame of his glorious relative, Gardar Holm, and as he gradually gets to know Gardar Holm, the story takes on gravity and becomes more than a simple memoir of a happy childhood among innocent people.
I don't want to say too much, because there are people who will be bored by this book. They are the people who like what I call "airport novels."
I loved it, every sentence and minute of it, as if I were spending time with the most admirable people in the world. I am now planning to seek out all the books by Halldor Laxness that have been translated into English. I see why he won the Nobel prize.
The masterly translation by Magnus Magnusson is everything a translation should be-- you forget you are not reading a work written in English.
The boy Alfgrimur's childhood is overshadowed by the fame of his glorious relative, Gardar Holm, and as he gradually gets to know Gardar Holm, the story takes on gravity and becomes more than a simple memoir of a happy childhood among innocent people.
I don't want to say too much, because there are people who will be bored by this book. They are the people who like what I call "airport novels."
I loved it, every sentence and minute of it, as if I were spending time with the most admirable people in the world. I am now planning to seek out all the books by Halldor Laxness that have been translated into English. I see why he won the Nobel prize.
The masterly translation by Magnus Magnusson is everything a translation should be-- you forget you are not reading a work written in English.
The Fish Can Sing by Halldor Laxness
The Fish Can Sing is an odd little novel about a talented yet humble young man in Iceland. Laxness paints a broad canvas here before settling into the novel's plot; we learn countless small details of everyday life in a small Icelandic village, nearby the capital that is itself a tiny blip on the world map. Everything is warm and inviting, albeit slightly peculiar, and as it continues we become more familiar with the narrator, Alfgrimur. As a protagonist he is nothing special, but the book's strength lies more in its themes and patterns than in characterization. As he matures he forms a surprising bond with his country's biggest star, the famous singer Gathar Holm. Holm travels the world and lives a life of ostensible luxury, yet the closer Alfgrimur grows to him the more he sees fame as fleeting and inauthentic.
This is the book that Laxness was working on when he won the Nobel Prize, to date the only person from his country to have done so, and has a strange beauty to it that is borne from his obvious love for Iceland. Every character here is good-hearted; gone is the brooding protagonist of Independent People, or the Dickensian, conspiratorial villains in World Light. Even the book's gloomiest figure, Holm, is aloof yet always supportive to little Alfgrimur. As Iceland was in the world spotlight, from there emerged this modest, charming and thoroughly Scandinavian book professing its author's intense loyalty to it. This isn't Laxness' best work, but is filled with a certain something that makes it stand out in his ouvre.
This is the book that Laxness was working on when he won the Nobel Prize, to date the only person from his country to have done so, and has a strange beauty to it that is borne from his obvious love for Iceland. Every character here is good-hearted; gone is the brooding protagonist of Independent People, or the Dickensian, conspiratorial villains in World Light. Even the book's gloomiest figure, Holm, is aloof yet always supportive to little Alfgrimur. As Iceland was in the world spotlight, from there emerged this modest, charming and thoroughly Scandinavian book professing its author's intense loyalty to it. This isn't Laxness' best work, but is filled with a certain something that makes it stand out in his ouvre.
The Fish can Sing (originally published in Icelandic in 1957 as Brekkukotsannáll) is, for most readers, probably the most accessible of all of Halldór Laxness novels. It can be favorably compared to Dickens. This coming-of-age story centers on the orphan Álfgrímur and his relationship to his very small world- indeed, almost all of the action takes place within a radius of about 2000 meters! This small area is, however, rich in characterization and momentous events. Each of the episodic 41 chapters exposes Álfgrímur to some new lesson about life; lessons which he takes to heart as he comes to grips with the modern world and his role in it. Gardar Holm, a "world famous" singer who may be Álfgrímur's father, appears from time to time- in a sense he represents Laxness himself- a world traveler who is not exactly what he seems. Álfgrímur may be thought of as personifying Iceland at the turn of the twentieth century- waking up from a solitary existence, ready to go out and make a mark in the world. Gardar's talks with Álfgrímur exist with several levels of meaning- personal, artistic, political, moral and emotional.
The tone of the book is generally lighthearted and is quite funny at times. The characters who drift in and out of Álfgrímur's life ground it; their faults and foibles reveal basic human dignities. All in all a wonderful book, the translation (by the esteemed Magnus Magnussson) seems to capture Laxness' deceptively simple style; certainly well enough to completely charm this reader- for the third time!
The tone of the book is generally lighthearted and is quite funny at times. The characters who drift in and out of Álfgrímur's life ground it; their faults and foibles reveal basic human dignities. All in all a wonderful book, the translation (by the esteemed Magnus Magnussson) seems to capture Laxness' deceptively simple style; certainly well enough to completely charm this reader- for the third time!
In austere Iceland when Reyjkavik was a mere village, Alfgrim the orphan lived an idyllic existence with Grandfather and Grandmother. Unfortunately this happy state of affairs ended for Alfgrim when he was sent to school. He then assumed the dual role of many literary heroes-man of potential as well as misfit. Iceland itself was experiencing an identity crisis, it seems. The honest, severe virtues of the old-timers were being superseded by the materialism and superficiality of the rising mercantile class. Ever on Alfgrim's horizon were reports of the mysterious Gardar Holm, an icon of success through his fame as a singer in the wider world outside Iceland. As Alfgrim progresses toward manhood, he must find his way among these influences, both good and bad. Laxness has supported his story well with many interesting characters; particularly Grandfather and Grandmother who represent, in an almost mythical fashion, the best of the old ways. It is a pleasantly quaint tale, told with the elegance and cultured craftsmanship you would expect from a Nobel Prize winner.
Icelandic lifestyle at the turn of last century
The author was the same age of my father and they both came from Iceland. This was a good profile of what childhood must have been like in that country. The characters sounded like stories I had heard as a youngster.
There are umpteen million biographies out there. Most of them are probably eminently forgettable. A few, however, catch the essence of a childhood lived in a particular place and time. Let me say right off that this is certainly one of them. I remember "Aké, Years of Childhood" by Wole Soyinka (Nigeria), "Chronicle in Stone" by Ismail Kadare (Albania), "Palace Walk" by Najib Mahfouz (Egypt), "Childhood, Boyhood, Youth" by Lev Tolstoy (Russia) and "Watcher on a Cast-Iron Balcony" by Hal Porter (Australia). Iceland at the turn of the 20th century was certainly not the smooth (albeit presently broke) Scandinavian-design country that it is today. It still remained a land of dirt-poor farmers, fishermen, and laborers who often remained forever caught in the coils of a company-store system that would rival anything in the coal mining country of West Virginia or Kentucky.
Alfgrimur grows up with his grandparents on the outskirts of Reykjavik in an old house with many guests, some staying on for months or years. He hears music in the form of songs from the nearby cemetery where he eventually lends his voice at funerals. He begins even to study music. There's a family mystery which haunts the whole book and is only gradually revealed. The mystery concerns a world-renowned Icelandic singer who makes occasional trips back to the adulation of his homeland. As Alfgrimur grows older, begins studying, and learning about life, he also gets closer to the bottom of the mystery. The book is full of odd events, stories that seem tangential but add to the whole, and a dry humor. We learn that it is bad form to kill flies in other people's houses. Love and death, the land and society, work and class struggle, everything finds a place here, and it seemed to me that the title bears the sub-meaning that all Icelanders (or maybe human beings) could sing if only they knew it. Whether or not this is straight-out autobiography or a fictionalized biography does not really matter. The culture of the long-gone Icelandic past is so vividly presented---dried cod's heads and direct speech descended from the Saga age, funeral orations and drunken French fishermen lying in gutters, gulls in the moonlight---that finishing the book is like emerging back into a paler reality.
I have not read such a beautiful, enjoyable book for some time.
Alfgrimur grows up with his grandparents on the outskirts of Reykjavik in an old house with many guests, some staying on for months or years. He hears music in the form of songs from the nearby cemetery where he eventually lends his voice at funerals. He begins even to study music. There's a family mystery which haunts the whole book and is only gradually revealed. The mystery concerns a world-renowned Icelandic singer who makes occasional trips back to the adulation of his homeland. As Alfgrimur grows older, begins studying, and learning about life, he also gets closer to the bottom of the mystery. The book is full of odd events, stories that seem tangential but add to the whole, and a dry humor. We learn that it is bad form to kill flies in other people's houses. Love and death, the land and society, work and class struggle, everything finds a place here, and it seemed to me that the title bears the sub-meaning that all Icelanders (or maybe human beings) could sing if only they knew it. Whether or not this is straight-out autobiography or a fictionalized biography does not really matter. The culture of the long-gone Icelandic past is so vividly presented---dried cod's heads and direct speech descended from the Saga age, funeral orations and drunken French fishermen lying in gutters, gulls in the moonlight---that finishing the book is like emerging back into a paler reality.
I have not read such a beautiful, enjoyable book for some time.
Essentially a coming of age tale for both Alfgrimur and Iceland. Alfgrimurs osolated life is challenged by school, modernity and the enigmatic Gunther Holm.
The story is witty and amusing enough to keep you reading to the end,the characters are both real and surreal and he paints the landscape well. Its just that this book is so rooted in Icelandic traditions and culture that unless you really know much about Iceland you miss the finer points of the book and it comes over as esoteric.Enjoyable enough, but esoteric.
Is this book really simultaneously comparable to Joyce's "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man" and Einhard's "Life of Charlemagne"? Somehow, yes. And, I hear you think, "Oh, no, is this another over the top review, comparing someone I haven't heard of to the greatest book he can think of?" Well, perhaps, but in my defense, the comparison stands up. And this isn't just any author you may never have heard of: this is an acclaimed nobelist whose work has stood the test of time already, internationally, though that work is just now becoming more widely available in English.
Laxness twists together some very odd strands of modernism and pastoralism, of novel and chronicle, resulting in a distinctive, thoughtful, and deeply entertaining book. The warp of the book is a boy growing up in a quiet but eclectic Icelandic fishing village, the weft is a mysterious and troubled relative whose periodic return from the broader world stirs the old pot. The two are woven together in a way that seems to show first one pattern, then another, then yet a third. I can think of no coming of age story that so deftly explores that strange world between reality, perception and perspective, as a boy, growing up, learns a bit more about the world but still, of course, not everything. The mystery remains, however much it may have been explored and challenged. All told with Laxness' dry, wry sense of humor. Truly Quixotic ("Ah!" you say, "There he goes again! Cervantes now. Shakespeare can't be far behind.")
This book truly deserves to be as canonical as Joyce's Portrait of the Artist, about the only book I can think of comparable to it in subject, scope, ambition and success. Throughout this read, I just kept saying, "it's getting even better." And, of course, I kept laughing aloud.
And, if you have any doubt about my over-the-top review, well, look at all the other reviews, too!
Laxness twists together some very odd strands of modernism and pastoralism, of novel and chronicle, resulting in a distinctive, thoughtful, and deeply entertaining book. The warp of the book is a boy growing up in a quiet but eclectic Icelandic fishing village, the weft is a mysterious and troubled relative whose periodic return from the broader world stirs the old pot. The two are woven together in a way that seems to show first one pattern, then another, then yet a third. I can think of no coming of age story that so deftly explores that strange world between reality, perception and perspective, as a boy, growing up, learns a bit more about the world but still, of course, not everything. The mystery remains, however much it may have been explored and challenged. All told with Laxness' dry, wry sense of humor. Truly Quixotic ("Ah!" you say, "There he goes again! Cervantes now. Shakespeare can't be far behind.")
This book truly deserves to be as canonical as Joyce's Portrait of the Artist, about the only book I can think of comparable to it in subject, scope, ambition and success. Throughout this read, I just kept saying, "it's getting even better." And, of course, I kept laughing aloud.
And, if you have any doubt about my over-the-top review, well, look at all the other reviews, too!
Did 14 out of 15 people really give this book 5 stars? This book is about both Alfgrimur's and Iceland's coming of age overly and unnecessarily decorated with never-ending and pointless descriptions, over the top and unlikely characters and situations, and random phrases in foreign languages. I have not read "Independent People" yet, but "Under the Glacier", which is a more engaging and interesting book, has a more complex plot where this kind of writing makes more sense and actually works.
I wouldn't say it is a bad book, but I often felt I was reading a simple but interesting plot that was overshadowed by unnecessary ornaments. Besides, the book has many references deeply rooted in Icelandic culture, so a few footnotes would have been very useful. I would like to read it again and, hopefully, a second reading will make me appreciate it more.
I wouldn't say it is a bad book, but I often felt I was reading a simple but interesting plot that was overshadowed by unnecessary ornaments. Besides, the book has many references deeply rooted in Icelandic culture, so a few footnotes would have been very useful. I would like to read it again and, hopefully, a second reading will make me appreciate it more.
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There's an endless array of well-defined, complicated, and vivid characters. There's the lavish countryside painted simply - evoking the same feeling you get from a good watercolor. Then there's the plot, which is mysterious and complex, but leaves you with much to ponder.
A nod to the translator, Magnus Magnussen, because the prose is fertile and poetic. It's unbelievably rich, yet brilliantly sparse. This is the way prose should be.
Laxness and Magnussen have given us a beautiful, soulful book. It's a remarkable read.