Valentines from Iceland

Valentines: stories, by Olaf Olafsson. New York: Pantheon, 2007. 216 pgs.

Do you like depressing books? Such as, those by Annie Proulx? Shipping News is one of my favorite books, but her subsequent ones are really, I mean really depressing.

Olaf Olafsson is another favorite author of mine. Like Annie, he is the author of books that, if you pick one up to read for 5 minutes, an hour and a half later you come back to reality with a start, and reluctantly put the book down. He is a  brilliant author who can immediately get you inside his protagonist's head. Olafsson's books are psychological studies of complex and disturbed individuals whose lives are revealed to the reader little by little.  I want to read anything that Olafsson writes, but the reviews for Valentines hadn't left me as eager to read it, so it took me a few years to get around to it.

Just like his other books, I couldn't put this one down. I read it in two sittings: both times when I intended to just read for a few minutes. This short story collection is organized in a series of 12 stories, each titled for a month of the year. Each is an ironic play on the title, for the characters exhibit every type of falling-apart relationship. Mis-understandings, missed connections, misplaced trust. Month after month, I fervently hoped for a positive note, a redeemed character, a regained relationship: a happy ending. Would I find it in October? In November, perhaps? WHAT ABOUT DECEMBER?

We know that the author is an Icelander living in New York; an accomplished scholar and a successful business executive; a husband and the father of three (three children; three novels). Reading this book makes you seriously wonder what kind of relationships he has. Perhaps he has learned from the mistakes of his characters, and has achieved the happiness that they find so elusive. I certainly hope so.

Hans of Iceland

Hans of Iceland and the Last Day of a Condemned, by Victor Hugo. New York: Thomas Nelson and Sons. First published anonymously in 1823. This edition 1928 (?). 536 pgs.

I received this for Christmas last year, and just completed it--a year later. It seemed a slight book when I received it, but it has Bible-thin pages and appears much smaller than it's 536 pages of the tiniest print! The book contains an essay at the end: the author's battle "in behalf of the sacredness of human life". Hans extends 428 pages, and while I enjoyed it very much, its wandering, convoluted plot could be consumed most easily in small portions. The copper etchings by Demarest add to the atmosphere of the novel.

This wild, extravagant, supernatural and romantic tale is Victor Hugo's first novel, written when he was just eighteen years old. It probably took me longer to read it than he did to write it. The main weakness of the novel is described by the author himself, in his preface to the 1833 edition:

Evey intellectual effort, be it drama, poem, or romance, must contain three ingredients,--what the author has felt, what he has observed, and what he has divined.

There is but one thing felt in "Hans of Iceland," the young man's love; but one thing observed, the young girl's love. All the rest is a matter of divination,--that is, of invention; for youth, having neither facts nor experience...can only divine by means of its imagination.

In other words, the author lacks experience from which to draw on as he creates a world of which he knows little.

There are two introductions and two prefaces in this edition. Three of them were written by the author for various editions of the novel. As often is the case, the introductions are as interesting as the book itself.

None of the book takes place in Iceland, by the way. The romance of Ordener and Ethel, whose feelings had their root in the author's own experiences, take place in Denmark and Norway. Hugo, although young, had a seemingly hopeless love for a woman whom he feared he was fated never to marry. As regards romance, the author was speaking from experience.

As for Hans, he is a beastly little man taken to devouring people limb from limb, and drinking their blood. He has a singularly vindictive nature, and is very cunning.

This book offers a fascinating glimpse of the very early work of a gifted author, playwright, artist, activist, and poet. It is a wild and crazy ride!

Confluence of Icelandic and Hawaiian Music

I recently bought another Benni Hemm Hemm recording (entitled--surprise!-- Benni Hemm Hemm) and was delighted to find a Hawaiian song on it. My first post (3/21/06) answered "Why Iceland?" with "it goes so well with Hawaiian music." Benni agrees! The song is Ku-Ui-Po, which you will probably recognize from Elvis and Blue Hawaii--it's a beautiful version.

Benni fans will also recognize "I could love you in a wheelchair baby." (I just LOVE the way he says "Baby".) It's guaranteed to run through your mind constantly, but not in a bad way (like, for example, most musical numbers--in my opinion--with the exception of songs from Blue Hawaii, naturally...and from other classics such as Cannibal!, The Musical, or Lagan).

There are a number of songs in English, and I particularly like Fight. The lyrics to most of the Icelandic songs are translated on Benni's web page. Labbie is from their first recording, Summer Plate, and was, I believe, composed in Italy. The saddest song in the world, Til Eru Fræ, is on this recording.

These songs have humor, sweetness, and a horn section that just won't quit. Those horns are the Whole Steamboat. Benni and his band ROCK!

Are you an Iceland Blogger?

Do you have Iceland on the Brain and do you blog about it? The Iceland Review Online is soliciting Iceland Bloggers. To read more about it, check out the article, and to share your Icelandic blog contact Eygló Svala Arnarsdóttir at eyglo@heimur.is

Atop a Volcano

Out of the house at 8 a.m., a record for this holiday so far! We walk a few blocks to the Kokuhus bakery and sample 6 different pastries for breakfast. This is a great place! We determine to come back and buy sandwiches for our return trip on the ferry late this afternoon.

As I write in my little journal I am seated on lava at the top of Mt. Eldfell, 725' high. It is a perfect day: warm, slight breeze, cloudless, and I have a 360° view of all the islands, the mainland, the glaciers, and the sparkling ocean. This is heaven, as long as I don't allow myself to think of the scary hike back down. The "boys" (all three) are exploring the summit. They find a puffin colony below, and Ruth's "bread oven."

The story behind this volcano and its eruption is fascinating. John McPhee creates a dramatic cliffhanger in The Control of Nature (1989)--a book about "places in the world where people have been engaged in all-out battles with nature." A large section of the book describes the 1973 eruption on Heimaey and the ensuing campaign to save the island's all-important harbor. A six-month battle took place in which sea water was pumped, with hand-held hoses and by boat, in an effort to cool and direct the lava. Not only was the harbor saved and the future of the island guaranteed, but the harbor was actually improved and made more secure by the extended lava flow. John's drawing shows the view west from Eldfell.

We hike back down to the guesthouse, and speculate that the temperature must be close to 75°F. Later we find that it was only 61°--are we becoming acclimated to Iceland? Whatever the temperature, we spend some quiet moments enjoying the flowers in Ruth's garden before we embark on our next adventure, which is...Peter's first horseback ride!

Ruth's daughter Sudrun ("Sunray") accompanies us to the horsefarm, and acts as a co-guide. The other guide is Fannay (possibly spelled differently), the new school principal for the island. Since Icelanders use first names almost exclusively, we ask Fannay what the students will call her when school begins. She replies that they will address her by her first name, of course--"we want to be friends."

They take us on spirited, surefooted Icelandic horses, which are the size of ponies. We ride English-style, and get to experience the famed tolt, or 5th gait of the Icelandic horse. We find the tolt to be somewhat between a fast walk and trot, and incredibly smooth. Fannay takes us down country roads, across fields, along the black sand beach, and to steep cliffs where sheep graze and puffins fly. (The sheep come in many colors, and apparently the genuine Icelandic sweather need use no artificial dyes.) The horses are comfortable moving at a tolt through rough, rocky terrain. We are able to see a lot of the island, for Fannay keeps us at a quick pace. Unlike the sluggish walk that trail horses in the U.S. are encouraged to maintain (by guides who probably want to ensure the riders' safety at the expense of their pleasure) Fannay frequently breaks us into a tolt or canter, glancing mischieviously over her shoulder to assess our progress and our enjoyment. This is exhilarating fun on a lovely, hot sunny day: the still ocean is spread out before us, with grassy-topped islands in crazy shapes scattered about.

Fannay and Sudrun deliver us back to town with just enough time to spare so that we can pack, pay for our room, get to the bakery, and race over to the ferry--at a human trot, rather than a tolt. Just in time, we board the ferry, select our seats, eat our late lunch, and lay down on comfortable couches inside, or stretched out on benches outside, for some serious naps.

Back on the mainland we pile back into our car and drive east, counterclockwise along the Ring Road, with Heimaey visible offshore. We stop in Selfoss for groceries and a Thai meal, where our waitress enlightens us to the fact that people don't tip in restaurants in Iceland. News to us! Later I scour my three guidebooks and find absolutely no mention of this key fact: key, because food prices are extremely high even without tipping!

We stop at Skogafoss so that I can see the lovely falls at twlight. You may recall that John, Gabe and Pete saw them on their ice-climbing expedition...so, we have retraced their journey of two days ago, and are now going beyond the point where they traveled. We hike to the top of the falls, in the lovely light of 10:30 in the evening, and Peter steps close to the falls to take pictures, probably enjoying John's discomfort. I look the other way, for on this trip I have already discovered that teenage boys on steep cliffs are best ignored if one requires peace of mind.

Our lodging consists of a quaint cabin in Vik (pronounced "week") and is surely one of the best places in town, situated at the base of a huge, rocky overhang where noisy fulmars nest. A waterfall runs next to our cabin, "Sumarhusid Hotturinn." We have a kitchen, living area, loft and bath. In the guestbook we discover a fine drawing by a previous guest, showing a family cozily inside the cottage while behind, deep in the rocky cliff, a troll in a cave stirs a great pot of human limbs! I really want to steal this drawing. I refrain. We sleep very well in this idyllic, troll-infested setting.
High 61°F Low 51°F