Cold Hearts by Gunnar Staalesen (translated from the Norwegian by Don Bartlett)

I had little or no idea of her background, but for reasons unknown she had chosen to make her living roaming the streets as a prostitute in Bergen, a coastal town with several hundred years of such activity. But once, not a very long time ago, in an overcrowded metropolis or in a frozen rural district, she has been someone’s little daughter, a small girl who played with tatty dolls, if she had any, a schoolgirl who had taught herself to read, heard about Brezhnev and Kosygin and other famous people, had her first lover, if she hadn’t been raped by a brutal stepfather, a precocious boy or a seaman on leave; one small person on her way into life, later across the border in the neighboring country in which she stayed long enough to acquire the local dialect before moving south to the town where all too abruptly she would end her days, without anyone knowing where she came from or who she was. (p. 154) 

I probably should have started reading the Varg Veum detective series with the very first one, but Arcadia Books sent me Cold Hearts a long time ago and so here is where I started.

Veum is a private investigator, much like Robert B. Parker’s Spenser, or John MacDonald’s Travis McGee, they are men who are strong and determined, in pursuit of justice, and compassionate. Veum is different, though, as he is Norwegian. The descriptions of the scenes and the streets, the restaurants and the stores, allow me to sense that I am there. Even if I can’t pronounce the names.

A former classmate of Veum’s son comes to his door, telling him that her friend, Maggi, has disappeared. They are street walkers, girls who turn tricks in desperation to survive, as they can find no other options in which to make a living. Often, they have been abused and turned to drugs.

It is extremely difficult for Varg to find Maggi; he must stumble through all kinds of other people first. He discovers that her brother is also missing, and worse than that he is missing from prison where he was incarcerated for killing a PE teacher. (Not that I have pleasant memories of gym classes, myself; they were the worst part of going to school.)

Also, two horrific characters named Kjell Malthus and Rolf Terje Daley have beaten up someone named Lars, after stealing all the heroin he had been transporting from Denmark.

To top it off, Carsten Mobekk has been found brutally murdered in his own home. He once was the head of a committee that had sought to help Maggi, her brother, Kalle, and her sister, Siv, as they were impoverished children with ineffective, to say the least, parents.

How does this tie in with Maggi’s disappearance? Unlike most American thrillers, the writing is complicated and unpredictable. I am transported to a world which is not my own, not only by profession(s), but also by culture. No wonder Cold Hearts is an international best seller with over 2 million copies sold. 

Norway in November Sign Up Post

Word is getting around that I am hosting Norway in November this autumn. It comes from a great passion I have for Jon Fosse, but other Norwegian authors as well. I have recently finished Emily Forever by Maria Navarro Skaranger, and Kristin Lavransdattar Book I: The Wreath by Sigrid Undset, both outstanding books about young women, although the later is set in the 14th century, and the former is in the present time. They each had something to teach me…

In November I am planning on focusing on Jon Fosse, however, rereading Septology (for the third time) as it is so profound. If you choose to join us, which I hope you do, you need not focus on him.  Please choose any work originally written by a Norwegian author and tell us your thoughts. I look forward to reading about what you have chosen!

Leave your name and the post about your choice(s) here if you would like to participate:

Sunday Salon: Let’s Talk about Norway in November, Specifically Some Book Suggestions

I could recommend Japanese authors from now until Tuesday. But, Norwegian authors? Not so much. In fact, some whom I thought were Norwegian are actually Swedish. So clearly, the hostess has things to learn herself. 

I have been searching for some highly recommended books which I leave for you here, in pairs instead of single images as that will make the post a bit shorter. I hope you find something which appeals to you should you choose to join us this Norway In November. (Some of them apply for Nonfiction November or Novellas in November as well.)

Hunger by Knut Hamsun

Kristin Lavransdattar  by Sigrid Undset

A Doll’s House by Henrik Ibsen

The House with the Blind Glass Windows by Herbjorg Wassmo

The Bookseller of Kabul by Asne Seierstad 

Sophie’s World by Jostein Gaarder

Out Stealing Horses by Per Petterson

The South Pole by Roald Amundsen

The Kon-Tiki Expedition by Thor Heyerdahl

The Werewolf by Aksel Sandemose

The Birds by Tarjei Vesaas

Giants in the Earth by Ole Edvart Rolvaag 

The Other Name by Jon Fosse (I-II)

I Is Another by Jon Fosse (III-V)

A New Name by Jon Fosse (VI-VII)

(These three books comprise the volume entitled Septology. after which Jon Fosse won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2023. I read them singly, as they were not all published when I began reading, and I recommend taking them slowly, one by one.)

Aliss At the Fire by Jon Fosse 

(perfect for Novellas In November)

A Shining by Jon Fosse

Trilogy by Jon Fosse

Scenes from a Childhood by Jon Fosse

Well, you can see that I have listed more books by Jon Fosse than any other, but that is because he has become one of my favorite authors. I have read The Other Name, I is Another, A New Name, Aliss At the Fire, and Scenes From a Childhood (which are short vignettes of the most piercing nature). I still look forward to reading Melancholy I-II and Trilogy, as well as A Shining. Obviously, there are so many more Norwegian authors to discover; I have only attempted to whet your appetite here, in the hopes that you will join us this November. A review site is soon to come…

I have linked this post with Sunday Salon, as this is what is uppermost in my mind today.

Norway in November…A New Literature Challenge Because I Am A Fosse Fanatic

It began with a simple comment on Sunday Salon, wherein I mentioned that Jon Fosse has become my new favorite author, which indeed, he has. Even before he won the Nobel Prize in Literature last October, I knew I had read someone who felt like he understood me. So often I read because I feel in sync with the author, but this time, I felt he was writing what I had no words for. (I’m speaking of Septology.)

My blogging has been in decline; I have switched from one platform to another, and I find it a challenge to discuss Japanese literature any more. My father says, “Things have a beginning, a middle, and an end.” And I feel very strongly that I am in need of a new beginning (which is part of why I left WordPress and returned here). I’m wondering if you are interested in reading some Norwegian literature with me?

Perhaps you have heard of Norwegian crime writers, such as Karin Fossum or Gunnar Staalesen. Maybe Jo Nesbo? If you are in the mood for something more action filled, you may wish to pick up a psychological thriller. Believe me, they are nothing like an American thriller, which seems to follow the same plot line over and over again. (The Girl…fill in the blank.)

Or, you may prefer a classic work with more historical value, such as something written by Henrik Ibsen or Knut Hamsun. 

If you’re planning to read for Nonfiction November, there are several options, as well options for Novellas in November; I think it’s fun to combine reading events.

I am going to leave a compilation of Fosse works published by Fitzcarraldo Editions, with a much more complete list of Norwegian authors to come, hoping that something will catch your eye and you’ll join me in Norway this November. I’d surely hate to go alone.

Melancholoy I-II by Jon Fosse

Septology by Jon Fosse

I Is Another by Jon Fosse

A Shining by Jon Fosse

Selected Jon Fosse

A selection of books by Jon Fosse, awarded the 2023 Nobel Prize in Literature ‘for his innovative plays and prose which give voice to the unsayable’, in Damion Searls’s translations.

Included publications:

• A Shining, Jon Fosse, Fiction
• Scenes from a Childhood, Jon Fosse, Fiction
• Melancholy I-II, Jon Fosse, Fiction
• Aliss at the Fire, Jon Fosse, Fiction

Sunday Salon: August, the month that was

The 20 Books of Summer turned into 15 for me. But, they were a good fifteen; I had a wonderful Summer of reading. My favorite books from the list include Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry, Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert, and Scenes From A Childhood by Jon Fosse. The first I read for Classic Club Spin #38. The second I read for Paris in July. The third I read because Jon Fosse has become my favorite author, replacing Haruki Murakami who formerly held that position ever since I hosted the first Japanese Literature Challenge in 2006. (Does this mean I should host a Norwegian Literature Challenge sometime? 🤔)

And now for something completely different: are you waking up with golf ball sized welts that seem to have come from nowhere? My son was so terrified his new apartment had come with bedbugs that he called Orkin, and for $300.00 had the whole thing sprayed. I’m afraid they took advantage of him for it doesn’t appear that bedbugs are the culprit. No, in Illinois the culprits are Oak Mites, which feast on eggs the cicadas have left behind. You can’t see them. You can’t feel them sting you. But the itch that they leave behind is nearly intolerable. None of the creams we have bought are terribly effective; the best thing I’ve found is holding an ice cube up to my skin until it melts. 

Also, staying inside and reading on the couch helps. I have begun reading for the R.I.P. XIX, which runs from September 1 through October 31. No longer does Carl from Stainless Steel Droppings run the event (where have so many of my blogging friends gone?!). Instead, you can post, and read about Readers Imbibing Peril, on Instagram at #ripxix.

It is sad to say goodbye to Summer. There has been such joy in swimming at Centennial Beach, and participating in all the reading adventures so many have provided. Thank you Cathy, and Emma, for hosting your reading challenges. Thank you Deb Nance for hosting Sunday Salon all this time! 

Happy September to all.

The Other Woman by Therese Bohman, translated from the Swedish by Marlaine Delargy, for Women in Translation Month

 

My heart grieves for the women who think that married men will choose them over their wives. Because a married man has sought a woman out, has felt that she would satiate a yearning for him, does not mean that he will sacrifice his perfectly comfortable, albeit boring, life for her. 

Alternatively, two of my all time favorite books, Madame Bovary and Anna Karenina, portray women who desperately abandon everything for the men that they love, and still they are not happy. Romance, illicit or otherwise, cannot fulfill the deepest hunger for love and passion.

The Other Woman had such an intriguing cover to me that I borrowed it from Boundless (the most annoying library app ever). Finding that it had been translated from Swedish made it a perfect read for Women in Translation Month which is quickly drawing to a close; furthermore, Other Press has just sent me Bohman’s latest book, Andromeda, to review. I wanted to know more about Therese Bohman’s previous work before embarking on her latest.

My whole body burns with a feeling I can’t quite define: anger, jealousy, the sense of being left out. The knowledge that I never come first. (p. 149)

Thus speaks the narrator of The Other Woman, when the initial thrill has begun to wane. She is an attractive girl in her late twenties, wanting to become a writer, but working at the Norkopping hospital kitchen in the meantime. When Carl Malmberg, a handsome doctor, offers her a ride home, she agrees. She has noticed his wedding ring, but it pales next to the shiny, dark blue Volvo that he drives. And, it seems to fall from her vision altogether when he eventually holds her in his arms, whispering lovely things in her bed.

Her life seems shabby next to his. His wife, Gabriella, and he have the finest things in a beautifully decorated apartment on the top floor of their building. Their life is ordered and complete, with children from their own marriage, and older children from the marriage Carl had before. We know nothing good can come from his liaison with this “other woman.”

The resolution is surprising, and far different than I had anticipated. Seeing how this particular relationship sorts out, combined with descriptions of intense emotion, were the thrill of the novel. As Other Press says, this book is “a passionate psychological drama where questions of power and sexuality are brought to a head.” 

The Empusium: A Health Resort Horror Story by Olga Tokarczuk for Women In Translation Month

The Empusium is one of the most wonderfully atmospheric books I have read in a long time. The forest trees, moss, and lichen create their own ominous mood:

The ritual of the fall had started, as if the proximity of death activated reserves of extraordinary energy in these trees that, instead of continuing to support life, allowed them to celebrate dying…As we know, however, the most interesting things are always in the shadows, in the invisible.

Upon closing the cover after finishing the last page, I am not entirely sure that I understand it. But, Olga Tokarczuk has given me much to ponder.

Mieczylaw Wojnicz has come from Poland to a sanatorium in Gorbersdorf, to live in a kurhaus for those suffering consumption. While he waits for a room there, he is taken to the Guesthouse for Gentleman, run by Herr Opitz. And soon after his arrival, he sees the body of a woman lying in the dining room table; it is Frau Opitz who has died.

Mieczylaw hears noises in the night, and when alone, he investigates the rooms above him. One is Frau Opitz’, where he tries on her clothes (her slippers fit him perfectly), and lies in her bed feeling great peace. The other room is an attic, containing a chair to which are attached great leather straps…the sense of foreboding is ominous.

The men at the Guesthouse for Gentleman have discussions around the dinner table, much of which consist of disparaging women. They also partake of a liquor called Schwärmerei, made from mushrooms in the forest, which tastes earthy but clearly makes their heads heavy and calms them down. 

We are told that Wojnicz has been uncomfortable all his life undressing in front of the doctors, who always insist he must remove even his drawers. At first I think this is because he is shy. Later, I come to understand it is because of what his underwear hides.

He makes friends with Thilo, who bequeaths him this photo:

They both have admired it greatly, noticing that when you look at it in certain ways you can see different things. This, I think, has something to do with the point Olga Tokarczuk is making: we see what it is that we want to see, and sometimes, our perspective shifts with the blink of an eye.

One more interesting concept…an Empusa is a shape-shifting female being in Greek mythology, a demonic ghost sent by the goddess Hecate and appearing to the ill-fated. How is it then, that The Empusium contains no women at all, unless we look more closely at Mieczylaw?

I have read this book for Women In Translation month, always an enriching experience in the book blogging world. Also, thanks to Fitzcarraldo Editions who sent me an advanced copy of this book, to be published September 26, 2024.

Down and Out in Paris and London by George Orwell

 

After ten days I managed to find a free quarter of an hour, and wrote to my friend B. in London, asking him if he could get me a job of some sort - anything, so long as it allowed more than five hours sleep. I was simply not equal to going on with a seventeen-hour day, though there are plenty of people who think nothing of it. When one is overworked, it is a good cure for self-pity to think of the thousands of people in Paris restaurants who work such hours, and will go on doing it, not for weeks, but for years. (p. 112)

It is a good cure for self pity for anyone to read Down and Out in Paris and London; revealing life in the early 1930’s when people everywhere were willing to work for anything. 

George Orwell does not tell how, or exactly why, he goes to Paris. But, he tells of his life there, going for days without food as he looks for a job of any sort. When the French find out he is not French, they are unwilling to hire him. When Russians opened a restaurant named Auberge de Jehan Cottard, the working conditions were worse than those he suffered under Hotel X working as a plongeur (dishwasher) with hard water and soft soap. Which wouldn’t lather. With an inch of fish heads and vegetable matter on the floor. With people scurrying, and yelling, and dropping food which may, or may not, be rinsed off before it is put on the plate.

This washing up was a thoroughly odious job - not hard, but boring and silly beyond words. It is dreadful to think that some people spend their whole decades at such an occupation. The woman whom I replaced was quite sixty years old, and she stood at the sink thirteen hours a day, six days a week, the year round; she was, in addition, horribly bullied by the waiters. (p. 69)

So I sat in an Adirondack chair at Centennial Beach, reading this book for both Paris in July and Reading Orwell 2024, most grateful for the jobs that I have had. (Not to mention the retirement I now enjoy!) Their onerous quality could never compare to that which I read described here, with courage and strength.

Sunday Salon, Classics Club Spin 38, and Hitting Two Challenges With One Book

 

When I’m not swimming, I’m walking, and it is such a delight to be outside. This path is at Herrick Lake, which I have been walking since a little girl, and then seriously again after Covid. When we had to be isolated, I refused to be stuck indoors.

I’m home from church now, and eager to begin a post. Isn’t that funny about blogging, how it comes and goes? At least that is the way it is for me…I have added a new header because why not? And this one is so inviting, as if I could sit by that window and read forever.

The Classic Club has revealed the number for Spin 38, and the number is 17. So, I will eagerly embark on this reread:

I have been wanting to reread it for so long! My father was a cattleman with the Chicago Stockyards before it closed in 1971. I know the stories of cowboys well, and these resonate beautifully within my heart.

Did you participate in The Classics Club this time around? Are you taking lovely walks to clear your head? Have you opened a book you particularly enjoy? 

I’m finishing Down and Out in Paris and London by George Orwell, to wrap up Paris in July 2024 and get a book in for ReadingOrwell2024. It’s nice when it works out that way…

May your week be blessed,

Bellezza

Classic Club Spin Number 38…to be revealed this Sunday

Thanks to Sylvia, I (re)discovered the Classics Club. Long ago, I had such a list published somewhere…but it is all too vague to remember now. So I created a new Classics Club list, and now I will choose twenty which I’d really like to read for CCSpin #38. The number of the book we are to read will be revealed on Sunday, July 21, so, if you’re like me, you’re just in time!

My twenty books, from a list of fifty:

1. A Wrinkle In Time by Madeleine L’Engle
2. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë
3. 1984 by George Orwell
4. Cat’s Eye by Margaret Atwood
5. We The Living by Ayn Rand
6. The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand
7. Animal Farm by George Orwell
8. Walden by Thoreau
9. Watership Down by Richard Adams
10. A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving
11. The Last Battle by C. S. Lewis
12. The Day of the Jackal by Frederick Forsyth
13. The Sea by Jon Banville
14. East of Eden by John Steinbeck
15. Possession by A. S. Byatt
16. The Pillars of The Earth by Ken Follett
17. Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry (finished August 2024)
18. It Can’t Happen Here by Sinclair Lewis
19. The Hobbit by J. R. R. Tolkien
20. The New York Trilogy by Paul Auster

The  challenge is to read whatever book falls under that number on your Spin List by Sunday, September, 22. I am eager to see which one it will be, as all of these are either great favorites, or books I’ve long been meaning to read. 

p.s. A comment below has caused me to wonder just what it is, exactly, that qualifies a book as a “classic.” It cannot be age alone, I thought, and proceeded to look for a definition. This comes as close as any I can find from PanMacmillan:

“ A classic brilliantly articulates universal themes – like love, morality, death, adversity – and offers revelatory insight and clarity to readers of any era. It always feels fresh.”

Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert (Paris in July 2024)

Madame Bovary has come to me twice in my life. Both times were when my heart was ripped and torn by another. When I was seventeen, I sympathized with her; now I blame her.

She was the lovely daughter of a farmer, who caught Charles Bovary’s eye when he came to attend to her father. After repeatedly visiting their home, for Charles is enraptured, he asks her to marry him. And so, she becomes the wife of a well-meaning, but not very proficient, doctor.

This is not enough for her. When invited to a ball, she dances with a dashing viscount, and thereafter yearns for such romance. For someone who would carry a green leather cigarette case, with his initials monogrammed on the outside. Her life begins to bore, and eventually dissatisfy her, in small amounts at first. She makes eyes with a clerk, Leon, and he with her, until he leaves the town afraid of compromising them both.

And then, she meets Rodolphe. He is a master at enticing women, intending nothing more lasting than a momentary dalliance. But, to Emma Bovary, he becomes everything.

“Oh, I will have her,” he cried, striking a blow with his stick at a clod in front of him. And he at once began to consider the political part of the enterprise, “Where shall we meet?” 

She leaves her home at dawn, to walk to his, waking him in his bed with her tender kisses. They meet in the garden of her home, finding every opportunity to be together. She buys him beautiful things which she cannot afford, from Lheureux, who obsequiously gives her everything she desires. Until he does not.

Rodolphe sends her word, the night before they are to leave together, that he cannot come. She is too good for him, blah, blah, blah. Emma is thrown into despair, which only becomes worse when Lheureux demands the money for what she has so carelessly bought. He will not be assuaged any longer, and in utter panic Emma goes to the chemist shop next door, stuffing handfuls of arsenic into her mouth.

Hers is a death most horrific; I will never forget the black liquid flowing from her mouth when she is being dressed for burial. Charles mourns her with everything he is; she was too foolish to see what she had in his love.

Flaubert has described the hunger some women possess to be loved by someone who thrills them; the steadfast love of a husband does not suffice. Instead, they are drawn to danger, to romance, to fulfillment which is not possible from a lover. It cannot satisfy, it cannot last. We find this in Anna Karenina, and again in Emma Bovary. They are two of my favorite novels, reminding me not to put my love where it should not go. 

As Gustave Flaubert has written, “We must not touch our idols, the gilt sticks to our fingers.”

(I read this book specifically for Paris in July, the links for which can be found here.)