Til Sibir

by Per Petterson

I det første bildet hun bærer med seg, sitter hun sammen med broren Jesper bak på trilla som bestefar kjører fra byen ut til gården nord i Danmark. Som liten drømmer hun om å reise til Sibir. Gjennom år med nedgangstider og sosiale forandringer, krig- og etterkrigstid, blir hun etter hvert en ung kvinne, og Jesper fortsetter å være det viktigste mennesket i hennes liv.

Genres: Fiction, Historical Fiction, Denmark, Scandinavian Literature, Literary Fiction, World War II, War

216 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 1996

About the author

Petterson knew from the age of 18 that he wanted to be a writer, but didn't embark on this career for many years - his debut book, the short story collection Aske i munnen, sand i skoa, (Ashes in the Mouth, Sand in the Shoes) was published 17 years later, when Petterson was 35. Previously he had worked for years in a factory as an unskilled labourer, as his parents had done before him, and had also trained as a librarian, and worked as a bookseller.
In 1990, the year following the publication of his first novel, Pettersen's family was struck by tragedy - his mother, father, brother and nephew were killed in a fire onboard a ferry.
His third novel Til Sibir (To Siberia) was nominated for The Nordic Council's Literature Prize, and his fourth novel I kjølvannet (In the Wake), which is a young man's story of losing his family in the Scandinavian Star ferry disaster in 1990, won the Brage Prize for 2000.
His breakthrough, however, was Ut og stjæle hester (Out Stealing Horses) which was awarded two top literary prizes in Norway - the The Norwegian Critics Prize for Literature and the Booksellers’ Best Book of the Year Award.

http://us.macmillan.com/author/perpet...

Reviews

[Candi · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5 stars

I don’t know what happened to the past three years, but that is how much time has passed between my first and second encounters with Per Petterson’s writing. Is it rational to proclaim an author a favorite, after just two fairly short novels? Well, I’m going to do just that, because I can discern that he knows quite a bit about the passage of time, the earnest yearnings of youth, misunderstandings, and the tempering or crushing of dreams. His words are melancholic and achingly nostalgic. He describes his settings so evocatively that I can picture them in my mind yet hunger to see them with my own eyes.

In this book, Petterson relates the perspective of a sixty year old woman from Denmark. She reminisces about her youth and young adulthood spent in a home where her older brother Jesper was the light of her life and vice versa. She is never given a name that I can recall except for the endearment used by Jesper, “Sistermine”. Jesper welcomes her into his circle of friends at times, and the two share a small room as well as their secret hopes. His was to go to Morocco someday; hers to travel on the Trans-Siberian Railway.

“I had read about it, seen pictures in a book and decided that no matter when and how life would turn out, one day I would travel from Moscow to Vladivostok on that train, and I practiced saying the names: Omsk, Tomsk, Novosibirsk, Irkutsk… Jesper was heading for Morocco. That would be too hot for me. I wanted open skies that were cold and clear, where it was easy to breathe and easy to see for long distances, but his pictures were mysterious and alluring…”

Their childhood is spent in a small village before the onset of World War II. Petterson masterfully depicts the confusion of a young girl regarding the relationship between her parents and that between her grandparents and father. The home is not a very loving one, with a mostly reticent father, whom she adores nevertheless, and a mother who seems more interested in her hymns than she is in her children or husband. “I hear my mother’s voice. She is a Christian, her voice is Christian. She has one foot on earth and one in heaven.” She prefers to imagine her father as the man she never knew before he married her mother: “… she has told me about the young man with his powerful arms and a back bent over at the top like a hump…. He came cycling along every morning in rain or shine when she was on her way to Sondergaden…”

Eventually Jesper will pass into adulthood ahead of his sister, and World War II will rear its ugly head. The bond between brother and sister, while still strong, will necessarily be altered. The narrator will live a restless life, have fleeting relationships with men and will pine for the day she can see Jesper once again. Per Petterson makes it easy to empathize with that sense of longing. Happiness is just beyond one’s reach; nothing will ever quite hold a candle to that one relationship we thirst for most of all. Everything else seems tainted in comparison.

Really, this novel was a very worthy precursor to the outstanding Out Stealing Horses. If I hadn’t read them in the order I did, this would surely have earned the full five stars. However, it’s not a perfect world, and I don’t worry about order unless it’s a series. So, I’d have to say that this is the wee bit weaker of the two novels. Petterson really sharpens his skill in the several years between the two publications, but you can’t go wrong with either one if you adore quality meditative reading as I do. Oh, and the ending – I’d take a wrench of the heart over sentimentality any day.

“I slept, and I dreamed I was in Siberia. There were the great plains with unbroken lines, and a sky and a light as from the dawn of the world, and timbered houses and flocks of birds like a thousand flamingoes that changed into seagulls when they took off and flew and filled the world before they dissolved and were gone.”

[Chrissie · Rating 5 out of 5]

I adored this book. Fabulous writing - even better than Out Stealing Horses. I have added In the Wake by the same author, simply because he writes so well. Read this book. Read it soon. Read it now. This is one of those books that every second spent reading is enjoyable. It is about a family and the people making up this family. And it is about the wonderful strong relationship between brother and sister, a relationship that glows in the cold harsh Scandinavian landscape of the 40s. This relationship shines, bringing warmth to the cold, eccentric family of which the brother and sister were an integral part. Families, all of them, really are amazing and strange each in their own way.

[Wyndy · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is one of Norwegian author Per Petterson's earlier novels, written in 1996 and predating his well-known Out Stealing Horses by 7 years. It's the quiet, moody story of a brother and sister, Jesper and "Sistermine" Mogensen, who, despite having parents with good intentions, grow up mostly unsupervised on the Jutland Peninsula of Denmark in the 1930s and '40s. In April 1940, Germany reaches Scandinavia. Artisan woodworking consignments are scarce, money is tight, and the family must move to increasingly smaller quarters. The siblings are forced to share a tiny room off the back of a dairy shop. Both dream of escape and travel to faraway places: Sistermine to coldest Siberia and Jesper to warmest Morocco. One sibling reaches their dream destination, and one does not. One comes home again, and one does not. In between is the day-to-day life of a family, a town, a country. This is my third novel by Petterson, and his language and landscapes are breathtaking once again. Fortunately, he has five more stories waiting for me.

"There is no glow in bricks. In Siberia the houses are built of timber that gives off the good smell of tar and warmth in summer, and when the long winter sets in the glow stays in the logs and never fades. The wood contracts and waits and stretches out when spring comes and drinks in the wind and the sun."
~ Sistermine

What a lovely vision.

[Jeanette (Ms. Feisty) · Rating 4 out of 5]

3.5 stars for story, 4.5 stars for writing

I don't know if there is a genre called artistic fiction, but that is the best way to describe this book. I really enjoyed reading it very slowly, creating pictures, sounds, smells, and emotions in my mind. Sometimes I would go back and re-read a passage just to be sure I was getting the full benefit of the scene the author created. There are some things about the story itself that are ultimately unsatisfying, but the writing is so exquisite at times that it's well worth the read. As ever, Petterson shines in his descriptions of outdoor scenes and experiences.

This story has the same undercurrent of melancholy present in Out Stealing Horses. That seems to be Petterson's trademark.

We never find out the name of the narrator. She tells the story of her girlhood in Denmark with her spontaneous, devilish older brother Jesper. They belong to a wounded and distant family where old hurts prevent warmth and communication. The girl and her brother cling to each other for safety and companionship.
As WWII progresses, Jesper becomes involved in resistance activities and the girl is left alone. Without her brother, her life becomes lonely and colorless.

Petterson plays free and loose with time frames and tenses in this book, even more so than in Out Stealing Horses. If you are a linear thinker needing orderly progression, you may want to leave this one on the shelf.

[Argos · Rating 5 out of 5]

Per Peterson’dan okuduğum altıncı kitap, Norveçli yazar bu kez Danimarka ağırlıklı bir öykü anlatıyor. Adını hiç öğrenemiyeceğimiz 60 yaşındaki anlatıcı kadının yaklaşık 6-7 yaşlarındayken hatıladığı 1932 Noel’i ile başlayan roman, çocukluğunu, gençliğini, Danimarka’nın 1939’dakş Alman işgalini, abisinin direnişe katılışını, 1943’deki işgalden kurtuluşu, zaman zaman geriye dönüşler yaparak anlattığı bir hayat hikayesine dönüyor. Peterson’un ilk romanlarından olduğu belli, son iki romanından (Ardından ve Benim Durumumdaki Erkekler) çok daha sıkı bir öyküsü ve anlatımı var.

Yine Kuzey Avrupa ülkelerinin vahşi tabiatı, yine yalnızlık hissi ve depresif ruh hali, o ülkelere has hüzün bu romanında da ana unsurlar. Kısa ama güçlü cümleleri ile klasik bir Per Peterson romanı. Bulunduğu coğrafyadan çok daha sert iklimi olan Sibirya’ya gitme hayali ise anlatıcının bir paradoksu, zaten romanda çok sayıda olan paradokslardan birisi. Beğendim, umarım yeni romanlarında eski çizgisine döner. 4,5/5

[Banu Yıldıran Genç · Rating 4 out of 5]

mırıl mırıl akan, büyük olaylara dayanmayan, küçük trajedilerle ülke tarihi anlatan roman bence per petterson’ın nasıl iyi bir yazar olacağını muştulamış zaten.
geçmişini anlatmaya çocukluktan başlayan adını bilmediğimiz kadın anlatıcının nerdeyse 20 yıla yakın bir süreyi aktarmasından oluşuyor sibirya hayali.
bu 20 yılın içine ikinci dünya savaşının girmesi her şeyi değiştiriyor tabii. bir savaş anlatısı değil kesinlikle. hatta danimarka savaştan en az etkilenen ülkelerden biri.
asıl olarak uzak babası, dindar annesi, herkesten ve her şeyden daha yakın olduğu abisi jesper’ı anlatarak başlıyor anlatıcı. aile anılarında babasının jesper’ı daha çok sevmesi ve bunun küçücük kız çocuğu tarafından habire fark edilmesi yürekleri burkuyor.
sınıfsal fark büyük aileyi bile bölmüş çünkü babanın annesi bir zamanlar evin hizmetçisi. kardeşler üvey. buna intihar gibi bir trajedi de ekleniyor.
soğuk ve fakirlik romanın tüm atmosferini kaplıyor. ölen çocuklar, çalışmak zorunda olan çocuklar… anlatıcıyı da çok başarılı olmasına rağmen liseye göndermiyorlar ve ailenin sütçü dükkanında çalışmak zorunda kalıyor.
savaşın hızlandığı yıllar, jesper komünist ve ülkeden kaçmak zorunda kalıyor. anlatıcının yapayalnızlığı ve kimsesizliği yine can yakıcı. onun da ülkeyi terk etmesi çok sürmüyor. savaş bitince hayali olan sibirya’ya değil ama isveç’e gidiyor.
romanın ikinci bölümü bir kadının büyümesi aslında. yaşadığı ilişkiler, hayal kırıklıkları, hep jesper’la buluşma hayali ve eve geri dönüş.
şimdi minicik şeylerden travma yaşayanlara bakınca anlatıcının jesper’ı ülkeyi terk ettiği gün sırf olsun bitsin diye yardımcı olan kayıkçıyla birlikteliği, isveç’te annenin akrabalarından birinin sarhoş tacizi ve yine anlatcının bir gün olacaklara izin vermesi o kadar doğal şeyler gibi anlatılıyor ki.
hepsi büyümenin bir parçası. ve per petterson bir kadının büyüme hikayesini yine ne incelikle aktarıyor bize.
öyle bir yazar ki çatışma olmayan danimarka’dan norveç’e gönderilecek alman askerlerinin geminin yanında “anne anne” diye ağlamalarını okurken yüreğimiz parçalanıyor. lan diyorsun sonra alman askeri onlar. ama işte küçücük çocuk hepsi. bunj söylüyor bir yandan petterson.
çok güzel bir roman. arvid’siz per’i özlemişim. dipnotların arkada olması beni çok zorlayan bir şey okurken ama olsun. çeviri ve dipnotlar da harikaydı. adaşım banu gürsaler syvertsen’e teşekkürlerimle.

[Teresa · Rating 4 out of 5]

I can't help but think of the novel I read right before this one, which also had a brother-sister relationship at its core (Machine Dreams). I enjoyed both, though beyond the close sibling relationship in both novels (the closeness due, perhaps in part, to parents whose relationship is not a good one), a war intruding on a somewhat isolated community in each, and an important similar plot point, the time period and the writing are different. As I was reading, I was also reminded of this quote from Zadie Smith's On Beauty : They [his siblings] were just love: they were the first evidence he ever had of love, and they would be the last confirmation of love when everything else fell away.

Here, the narrator goes through her life, noticing what is around her, not connecting to others, missing her brother, though what is unsaid about that is what is the most poignant, as the feeling I was left with on the last sentence attested to.

Though I liked this novel, I still prefer Petterson's Out Stealing Horses--a more mature, fuller work--over this one.

[Joy D · Rating 4 out of 5]

A sixty-year-old woman looks back on her life from childhood to 1947. She and her brother lived with their aloof parents and grandfather in a small town in the Jutland peninsula of Denmark. She and her brother, Jesper, form a close bond. The protagonist dreams of one day traveling by rail to Siberia. During the German Occupation, her idealistic brother joins the resistance. She and her brother are separated, leaving her to wonder what life would have been like if it had not been derailed by WWII.

This is a quiet, character-driven novel with a melancholy tone. It is beautifully written. It was easy to envision the stark, frigid environment. I am not quite sure what to make of the ending. I can also recommend this author’s outstanding novel: Out Stealing Horses.

[Hulyacln · Rating 4 out of 5]

Sibirya’da olup; oranın soğuğunu iliklerine kadar duyumsamayı isteyen bir kız çocuğu var. Kitaplarda gördüğü Fas’ta sıcağı, renkleri merak eden de bir ağabeyi.
Piyanosunun başında şarkılar söyleyen bir anneleri, yaptığı işlerde dikiş tutturamayan babaları..
Ama en kötüsü, ülkelerine adım adım yaklaşan bir savaş var.
İşte o çoğu şeyi değiştirecek: Fas’ı, Sibirya’yı, şarkıların sardığı evlerini..
.
Per Petterson okumak kendimle yakınlaşmamı sağlıyor gibi hissediyorum. Yaşadıklarımdan çok farklı da olsa anlattıkları, bir şekilde içine çekiliyorum cümlelerinin.
Ve bunun için çok büyük şeyler anlatmasına, büyüleyici sözler kullanmasına gerek de yok.
Sibirya Hayali de elime aldığım ilk andan son sayfasına kadar kaybolduğum bir kitap oldu. Dağınık bir anlatımı olmasına karşın.
Zaman ve mekanların birden değişmesinin bile güzelliği vardı çünkü.
Yine çok sevdim Petterson’u.
.
Banu Gürsaler Syvertsen çevirisi, Carl Larsson kapak illüstrasyonuyla ~

[iva° · Rating 5 out of 5]

znalački ispričana priča mirnog i stabilnog tempa kojoj je u središtu nježan odnos brata i sestre (60godišnja žena prisjeća se svog djetinjstva i odrastanja - period cca 1930.-1950.).
što god sam čitala od skandinavske literature, oduševilo me. iako ne volim generalizirati, sve te knjige prožima spori i odmjereni tempo, ozbiljnost, mirnoća i suptilno iskazivanje emocija. nema drama ni histerije. finoća, da.... ova knjiga je finoća.

[Demet · Rating 5 out of 5]

"...kendimi açıkta bırakılmış ve sonbahar yağmuru yemiş bir şilte kadar ağır hissediyorum, kıpırdatması imkansız, bir hayvan ölüsü kadar ağır."

[gesztenye63 · Rating 5 out of 5]

Petterson legendás „norvég megbízhatóságáról” Kuszma barátom egy svéd Volvóra asszociált (tekintve, hogy az összes norvég dolog, ami eszébe jut az svéd). Ezt szinte kihívásként értelmezve, fogtam magam és közelebb óvakodtam a kérdéshez. S persze, hogy elsőként eszembe villant, az a bizonyos finom, meleg, kézzel kötött, norvég mintás pulcsi (legyen rajta rénszarvas!). No, abban aztán van megbízhatóság rendesen. Süvítő tengeri szél, kavargó, metsző hókristályok, fogcsikorgató fagy – hadd jöjjenek csak… Rajtad van a norvég kályha, betakar, őrzi a tested melegét, dacol a zord külvilággal, fittyet hány a szilaj természetre. Nekem ilyen Petterson munkája (ha kiszállok a Volvóból, hát legyen rajtam a pulcsi). Nyilván nem titok, hogy elfogult vagyok vele kapcsolatban (az a bizonyos ’90-es katasztrófa – emberfeletti erő kell ahhoz, hogy feldolgozz egy ilyen veszteséget). Még ha nem is úgy írna, mint egy norvég isten, valószínűleg akkor is felülpontoznám. De úgy ír, bizony ám.
Ez a korai regénye is valami döbbenetes erőt mutat a felszín alatt, miközben a párhuzam a későbbi Lótolvajokkal igencsak szembetűnő. A mesélő itt is élete delén túlról narrálja a gyermekkor meghatározó emlékeit, a család, a szülőváros, a háború és – fiatal felnőttként – a skandináv háromszögben (dán-svéd-norvég) megélt kalandok ridegségét, bensőségességét, frissességét, másra/újra nyitottságát. Kiemelve persze azt a konok dacot, azt a makacs tántoríthatatlanságot, ami valahogy folyton átitatja Petterson írásait. No, és persze ott az emlékfolyam, ami ebben a regényben is minden mást letarol. Nincs jelen, nincs jövő, vagy ha van is, hát minek van, hiszen mi úgyis csak a múltban élünk.
Azon túl, hogy a mesélő az emlékek erejével beleköti jelenét és savanyú, kis maradék jövőjét a múlt reménytelenül változtathatatlan történéseibe, a felvillanó képek által egyszersmind a menekülések regényévé is teszi az Irány Szibériát. Zsoltárokba menekül az asszony élete csődje elől, ahogy városi asztalossá válik a gazdálkodó, miközben jelképes és valós púpot növeszt a terheiből. A tehetős gazda is menekül, egyenesen az istálló szemöldökfájára, a tehén mellett lógva, tán ott vár a kegyelem. S Hugicám, a regény mesélő-főszereplőjének útja is felfogható menekülésként, ha már nem hiszünk az örök útkeresésben. Mindenki menekül valahová, de leginkább önmaga elől fut, saját elvarratlan szálait lobogtatja maga után. Ebből fakadóan pedig mindannyian csetlenek-botlanak, bár teszik a dolgukat, de valahogy hiányzik az összképből, az a bizonyos skandináv összeszedettség, tudatosság. Ez pedig valami szokatlanul fanyar, ismeretlen ízzel tölti meg az olvasó svéd húsgolyóhoz (sajnos ebből nem tudok norvégot csinálni) szokott konvencionális ízlelőbimbóit.
Talán az egyetlen karakter Jesper, a Nexön szocializálódott ifjú kommunista forradalmár, reménybeli szakszervezeti aktivista és világutazó, aki valós céllal létezik hőseink között, még ha az a cél maga az ösztönös, zsigerekből serkenő önpusztítás is.

A legfurább pedig az, hogy a rövidke mese, az egyszerű északi történet emésztése során, napokig törnek fel az olvasóból az újabb kérdések, újabb gondolatok, az értelmezés még újabb lehetőségei, különös, addig rejtőzködő opciók. Petterson tipikusan az a szerző, akinek a könyvei az olvasást követően több izgalmat tartogatnak, mint közben.
Mestermű ez, úgy bizony. Patat Bencének pedig egy virtuálpacsi a szépséges fordításért.

[Jon · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is the third of Per Petterson's novels that have been translated into English. The other two deal with grown men struggling to come to grips with tragic events in their lives. To Siberia is told from a woman's perspective; a woman, at the time of the telling of the story, in her 60's looking back over her childhood and troubled transition to young womanhood. Invariably, I find Petterson's books acquire new meaning and certain details are illuminated by re-reading them. His books seem deceptively simple, but there is a lot of darkness there and certain sentences stand out much as great lines of poetry do. He writes certain sentences which convey almost a novel's worth of meaning in them. The only other writer I can think of that does that is James Baldwin who can convey all the bittersweet heartbreak and pathos of emotional existence in one well-written sentence.

This book starts out differently than Petterson's other two in that it reminds me of a Carson McCullers' novel or an early short story by Truman Capote. The protagonist is a precocious girl and her family is somewhat eccentric - from her Baptist parents to her young Communist brother. They live out in the sticks in Denmark and most of them seem to have odd personalities shaped by the largely uncontrollable forces of life. The book starts off pleasantly enough, however, it would not be a Petterson book if it did not take a dark turn. This one does and leaves you wondering at the end about the sanity of the main character who comes of age during the Second World War and is shaped by its events and those of the immediate postwar era.

[Kuszma · Rating 5 out of 5]

Hiába, ez a Petterson megbízható pacák. Ha a világirodalom egy gépjárműpark, akkor ő benne a Volvo: csendes, elegáns, és mérget vehetünk rá, hogy működik a légzsák. (Tudom, valami norvég tárgyú metafora jobb lett volna, de mit csináljak, az összes norvég dolog, ami eszembe jutott, svéd.) Nyugodtan, színleg eseménytelenül göndörödik keze alatt a főszöveg, de figyelni kell, mert aztán egyetlen mondatban (sőt, néha a mondat hűlt helyében) olyan feszültség sűrűsödik össze, hogy le kell tenni a könyvet, hisz mélázni muszáj. Ez – jelentsük ki – amúgy egy háborús regény, legalábbis jó része a német megszállás alatti Dániában játszódik, amely Dánia először még köszöni, jól van a fritzek alatt, de aztán nyögni kénytelen, és nem jódolgában ám. Ugyanakkor mégsem a háború a lényeg, hanem a család, a testvéri szeretet halk komplexitása, mindez úgy, olyan tisztán, mint (és itt most próbálkozzunk meg egy norvégosabb – bár elcsépelt – hasonlattal) a forrás, amit gleccserjég táplál.

Ui.: külön buksisimogatás a hitelesen interpretált nőnemű énelbeszélőért.

[Steve · Rating 4 out of 5]

As atmospheric, melancholy, and meditative as Out Stealing Horses and In The Wake, but I found To Siberia a bit more obtuse (which is not a complaint). A number of reviewers have called the later sections less satisfying, and suggested that the brother/sister relationship at the heart of the novel ends too early, but I had the opposite reaction -- as much as I enjoyed that relationship's developing complexities as the characters moved from childhood to maturity in the shadow of war, the novel really came together for me only after the unnamed sister is left to wander alone. So much of the novel concerns men (fishermen, soldiers, fathers, brothers) leaving women behind and unable to follow, either geographically or culturally. Through that lens, Sistermine's drifting at the end of the novel -- and the fact that unlike her brother, she never gets a name beyond the possessive "Sistermine" -- became less about her own rudderlessness and more about the limits she's given by a world her desires are too big for.

[Jessica · Rating 2 out of 5]

I had tremendously high expectations for this book, told by an older woman who looks back reminiscingly at her life growing up in Denmark, pre- and post-WWII. It tells the tale of this woman's relationship with her brother Jesper, his contributions to Nazi resistance, and her less-than-warm family life.

While so many others raved about the prose, I just didn't feel it. Perhaps, because this was translated into English, something was lost from the original Scandanavian meaning? Personally, throughout the whole I remained disconnected from the characters, never feeling like I really knew them or their passions. Deaths occurred and emotions were barely touched upon. It didn't move me...it didn't touch my heart.

As for the relationship between this young girl and her older brother, to me, it seemed as though it was a childhood sweetheart rather than a sibling. Again, I did not FEEL. I had hoped this book would reach out and tug at my heartstrings as I fondly looked back at my own special relationship with my brother. It did not do this. To me, it was just a bit warped. I suppose this is to be expected considering, this girl (who remains nameless through the entire book) has a very warped family life, with nary a mention of parents other than a few handfuls of times when they are scolding her or her brother.

It was difficult to get through, and even more difficult to transport myself into the place and time in which this story took place. The sentences ran on and for me, the story jumped all over the place.

I wanted to love it, but honestly, it was okay at best.

[Кремена Михайлова · Rating 4 out of 5]

„Когато се спираме и поглеждаме леда, отначало виждаме само бяло, после лъскаво и накрая просто открито море.“

Магѝк се оказа Пер Петершон отново. Разказва спокойно за своите герои – главно какво се случва, но и същественото – как се чувстват те. Със сигурност ще чета още от него.

В „Към Сибир“ най-ценното за мен беше „сестричке“.
Естествено и студът (дори не сибирски, а датски; и не ценно, а интересно). Правилно в книгата е написано „летните седмици“, а не летните месеци.:)) Иначе и аз имах интерес към Сибир по едно време – заради бъдещия диригент на Берлинската филхармония, който е от Омск. Разгледах подробно не само леда, но и хората там (чрез google street view).

А в „Към Сибир“ хората също са особени. Добре че оазисът се състоеше в отношенията между брат и сестра. Много обичам дете да разка��ва в книгите (разбира се то пораства по някое време… и често тогава губя интерес).

Но ето я детската магия, колкото и да е смесена „ведро-мрачна“:

„Баща ми обича Йеспер. Аз обичам баща си. Йеспер обича мен, но му харесва да ме закача, да ме плаши в тъмното с духове, да ме дърпа под водата през лятото. А аз го търпя, защото искам да приличам на него. А сега вървя самичка с баща ми, Коледа е и ушите му са от порцелан. Страхувам се да не паднат, а той не ги докосва нито веднъж през петте километра до стопанството.“

„Майка ми е кадифе, майка ми е желязо. Баща ми често не отронва и дума и понякога на вечеря хваща нажежения чайник за желязната дръжка и го държи, докато аз си налея, и когато го оставя на място, виждам червените белези по дланта му.“

За дядото и бабата няма да разказвам, но това ми хареса:

„… не ме е грижа, че чичо Нилс нарече баба ми вещица. Да бях знаела, че е позволено, отдавна и аз да съм го казала. Изглежда Йеспер също няма нищо против…“

И тук като в „Хайде да крадем коне“ има социалисти, комунисти, синдикалисти. Неизбежно е в онези години около войната. В държави без соц-режим (и в началото на миналия век) повече разбирам и прощавам това, но за нашата не искам да чувам (като виждам млади „неосоциалистчета“ и тук сега)

SPOILER!!
А последната глава от книгата ми беше доста мътна – не разбирах много кой-къде-какво. Може би и момичето не разбираше… Изглежда много скандинавци търсят щастието си в съседните скандинавски държави. И в други книги съм срещала това обикаляне.

Затова се връщам към детството:

„Но Дорит е добра, почти не помръдва, просто си преживя и топлината на тялото ѝ прониква през палтото ми, усещам я по корема си и бавно си поемам дъх. Това е Бъдни вече на 1934 година и двамата лежим така, Йеспер и аз, всеки в своя бокс, при своята крава в един обор, където всичко диша, и може би сме заспали, защото не помня почти нищо повече.“

И към желанията:

„- Вечно ти е студено, какво ще правиш в Сибир? Ела с мен в Мароко. Тръгваме веднага след края на войната.
- В Сибир е друго. Не е като тук, имат други дрехи и топли дървени къщи. Освен това Франко е дошъл през Мароко, така четох.“

„Ако пожелая, ще отида там – казваше Йеспер. – И ще го пожелая.“

А аз се чудя – да остана ли в детството с героите или да приема всичко от по-късния им живот. Пак почти не разказва Петершон за по-късно. Предимно детство/юношество и после – някои са на 60 години.

[Sophia · Rating 5 out of 5]

4.5 stars. A portrait of a girl during the 40´s in Scandinavia, a story about love between siblings, a coming of age, longing and betrayal. Petterson is the norwegian Master when it comes to painting pictures and describing feelings with words... I am stunned again! Please read To siberia and Out stealing horses. Hope the translation is good, because in norwegian it is just brilliant!!!

[David · Rating 4 out of 5]

I very much enjoyed this episodic reminiscence of one girl’s coming of age in a village at the far north of Denmark. The title refers to the narrator’s childhood dream of making a railroad journey across the continent to the crystalline wastes of what is for her an exotic storybook land. The early scenes in which she follows her brother (and hero) Jesper on various escapades are written with a naïve vividness that truly evokes glowing sights and fresh sensations, fears and pleasures of those childhood experiences that retain an air of enchanted memory. We may never have cuddled up with a warm cow on a cold winter’s night, but we fully grasp the unexpected wonder of it, having viewed the world through those eyes ourselves. There is a disappointing trip to the island of Skagen during a rainstorm that perfectly recalls just those small disillusionments that felt so huge. There are darker, more mysterious phantoms that flit across the stage as well, such as the death of a classmate, or the suicide of her forbidding grandfather, a doomed and drunken farmer; plangent chords that will remain unresolved. The siblings’ adolescence coincides with the coming of the Nazis, which circumstance proves too tempting to Jesper, a devout communist, leading to some taut passages and much whistling in the dark as the Dutch resistance comes sluggishly to life to throw of the oppressor’s yoke. In the end, we follow our narrator to the threshold of full adulthood of unflinching resignation that, in a sense, finally transports her to that ice palace – or bleak gulag – of her girlish fantasies. I haven’t yet read Out Stealing Horses, so I can’t compare the two, but the wistful, haunted quality of this book reminds me a bit of the impressionistic, memory-filtered novellas of Andrei Makine (Dreams of My Russian Summers). It is a little what I imagine reading Proust to be like, if Proust weren’t too long for me to read.

[Txe Polon · Rating 5 out of 5]

No deixa de sorprendre'm l'habilitat de Petterson per crear històries d'allò més emotives mitjançant l'encadenament de petits episodis vitals que, per si mateixos, semblen intrascendents, però que en conjunt configuren un vívid quadre entorn d'un personatge meravellós que creix i creix davant dels ulls del lector.

[notgettingenough · Rating 4 out of 5]

For meaningless pictures https://alittleteaalittlechat.wordpre...

I guess it’s no coincidence that I am about to recommend four books read in a row since they are all authors whose works I have determined to read in their entirety.

(1) Savage Night by Jim Thompson. It’s been a while since I’ve read a Jim Thompson and this one seemed more ambitious than I recall. The anti-hero is a tragic figure. The reader may not be able to go as far as empathy – none of us have lived anywhere near this place and these people. But Thompson himself lived the life. So his clever way with words is true. It makes such a difference to know that.

(2) Juggling the Stars by Tim Parks. Not a million miles from Savage Night, but this time the anti-hero is a failed Northern Brit who is doomed to a life on the edge of failure, teaching English in Italy. What could be more demeaning a life? And, of course, like Thompson, Parks is writing for real, having been a teacher of English in Italy for his life’s work. The subtitle says it all ‘A novel of menace’. He is super good at the unease which ensures the reader is gripped in the tale’s vice. Only finishing it gives release.

(3) Harlequin House by Margery Sharp. One could scarcely change the tempo more. A typical story marked by gentle social digs, a love of words and a hilarious motley collection of characters, lead by the protagonist Mr Partridge with his dapper style and overactive imagination. Delightful.

(4) To Siberia by Per Petterson. I did this the discourtesy of it being my reading on the bus book. It definitely deserved better than to be picked up and down half a dozen times a day. It has the trademark Norwegian glumness, but despite that being the basic beat of the book it nonetheless outdoes itself with the very saddest last two sentences. Your heart will sigh when you get there.

[Ron Charles · Rating 2 out of 5]

You can infer a lot about the mental state of the narrator of this bleak novel from the fact that she fantasizes about moving to Siberia. We meet her on Christmas Eve, 1934, when she's 9, living with her family in a poor fishing village in northern Norway. She has just recently realized that "the world was far bigger than the town I lived in," and she's already looking forward to "my own great journey." Setting her sights on a vast frozen desert in the Soviet Union seems like a sad choice, but it's typical of the desolation that infuses every one of these pages.

Per Petterson has been writing in Norway for decades, but Americans didn't have access to his stark, somber work until last year, when a publisher in St. Paul, Minn., released Out Stealing Horses, a quiet novel about an old recluse remembering a fateful summer. It won the International IMPAC Dublin Award and wide critical praise, enough to generate interest in Petterson's earlier books. And so, this year we have To Siberia, which appeared in England 10 years ago.

The story -- such as it is -- evolves in a series of highly impressionistic moments, recalled by a 60-year-old unnamed narrator whose unmitigated sorrow casts a shadow over everything she remembers. Her memories of life when she was a girl present themselves to us like visions in a dream: intense and detailed at the focal point, vague and misty around the edges. The events generally fall into chronological order, in three sections: the narrator's childhood, the German occupation during her teen years, and her travels through Denmark and Norway in her early 20s. But there are numerous disorienting gaps and references we can't understand until later -- if ever -- as the meanings of various associations slowly accrue.

Some beautiful, haunting scenes come early in the novel when she plays with her beloved older brother, Jesper. He's an endearing rascal, full of fun and mischief, who at 12 already dreams of becoming a famous smuggler. "He does things that are original," the narrator says. One evening he calls her out of the house after their parents have gone to bed. "I have never been outside like this, never had a shadow at night," she says. "He goes first and I follow, it is like a dance only the two of us know and we dance along the roof until we come to the end where a birch reaches up with strong branches and there we climb down." They end up in the barn snuggling with cows for warmth, whispering the animals to sleep. The scene's odd poignancy stems from Petterson's ability to strip away almost everything, letting what's left imply a little girl's inarticulate wonder and delight with these simple moments.

But more often the narrator's descriptions suggest dark tensions and even tragic events, not fully comprehended by her child self. She senses, for instance, the irreconcilable break between her grandparents and her father, as his employment prospects slowly trend downward. She feels the lack of affection between him and her pious, hymn-playing mother. " He is the one who chose her," she says incredulously. "I don't understand it, they never touch each other." We hear only a child's version of her grandfather's suicide: "The paper was folded twice without a speck on it and bore a note in his handwriting: I cannot go on any longer. I was sure that was something we understood, both Jesper and I, that he could not go on any longer, but what it was he could not go on with we had no idea, because he was as strong as an ox and could work harder and longer than anyone else I have ever known."

By the time the Germans arrive in 1941, Jesper is enflamed with the slogans of socialism, but Denmark is passive, and so her brother must just smolder with resentment until his petty acts of defiance find an outlet in the active resistance of 1943. Here Petterson's highly selective vision provides a frightening impression of their lives as the Germans take over. Small moments of violence could lead to a momentary thrill, or to execution. But Petterson makes no effort to provide a comprehensive narrative of the war years. He gives us only isolated anecdotes and startling images that suggest the weird mixture of normalcy and terror under occupation.

The novel's final section, which takes place around 1947, is the starkest and thinnest. Here the story grows even more fragmented, the tone even more depressed, the events even more colorless. The narrator moves from city to city, waits tables, works as a glassblower, sleeps around, pines for her brother. "The days go by, and I go with them," she says, "but I do not count them."

I was starting to, though. There's nothing like listening to somebody else's despondency to make the time drag. "Nothing mattered," she goes on. "I'm twenty-three years old, there is nothing left in life. Only the rest."

Unfortunately, the further the novel moves away from the sensuous childhood scenes in the first section or the chilling moments of resistance in the second, the more unsatisfying To Siberia becomes. Its blank emotional landscape and fragmented events are meant to convey the narrator's aimless despair, and they certainly do, but as hard as I tried I couldn't resist the conclusion that this book is just plain dull.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/...

[Steve · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book is really about home: how the home you live in may not be the home you long for, how sometimes family folks can deal as much damage to your home as an invading army.

One reason I often prefer crime fiction is that the author will put characters in interesting situations and let the story tell itself, with little explanation of why, leaving the reader to draw his or her own conclusions from the story. Petterson shares this trait with my favorite crime novel writers; he lets us find our own way and decide for ourselves what to draw as a conclusion.

Peterson writes amazing fiction, and Ann Born translates brilliantly. This is a timeless book, primarily set in 1940s Denmark. We see the world through our primary character and the contrasting viewpoint of her brother. Much of the book is written as if she is in a waking dream, and I do think that's how she frequently sees her life.

This is lucid prose at its best, compelling and sometimes difficult to track, but worth the effort.

Here's a fascinating article about the author and his life and how it shaped his fiction:

[Coffeeboss · Rating 3 out of 5]

The spare writing was intriguing, and the setting of Jutland, Denmark pre- and during WWII (when the Nazis occupied Denmark) was ripe for exploration, but somehow this book ended up making me feel wanting of more. A relationship between sister and brother is developed, then as war happens, the siblings go separate ways. I wish the book was twice as long, but as it was, it felt too slight, leaving interesting ideas and settings introduced, but not explored enough.

[Burkem Cevher · Rating 5 out of 5]

Bitti 😢 Evde okunmamış iki Per Petterson kitabı daha var ama sanırım önce At Çalmaya Gidiyoruz’u bir kere daha okuyup en favori kitabımın hangisi olduğuna karar vereceğim. Çok sevdim, böyle bangır bangır bağırmayan, sade ama akan giden kitapları çok seviyorum. Ve en sevdiğim yazarlardan olan Per Petterson’ın kalemine aşığım ben, keşke ben de böyle yazabilsem.

[Vishy · Rating 4 out of 5]

After reading ‘Out Stealing Horses’ by Per Petterson, I thought I will read ‘To Siberia’ written by him, which I had got along with ‘Out Stealing Horses’. I finished reading most of the book yesterday – and if some sudden things hadn’t cropped up, I would have finished the book yesterday itself, which rarely happens for me, because I am a slow reader – and finished reading the last few chapters today. Here is what I think.

What I think

‘To Siberia’ is about a sister and brother growing up during the Second World War in Denmark, when the Germans occupy Denmark. The sister is the narrator of the story, and her name is unknown. The brother is called Jesper. The first part of the book is about the sister and brother growing up in a small town in Denmark and the adventures they have together and the happy and sad moments that they experience. Then the German soldiers come into Denmark and things change. Jesper works with the resistance group against the Nazis and has to leave the country at some point of time. The war ends but for some reason the sister leaves the country. She works in different places – the telephone exchange, a glass blowing factory – and finally ends up as a waitress in a café. Then she has a brief affair with a customer who frequents the café and gets pregnant. She decides to go home and spend time with her parents while she is expecting, but when she lands up at home, she discovers that her brother has died. Her mother refuses to take her in because her mother is a very strict Christian and the narrator is pregnant without being married. So, our heroine, the narrator, decides to spend her time with an acquaintance in their sheep farm taking care of the ewes that are going to lamb soon, while she herself is expecting to give birth to a baby. The story ends with this. It is not very clear what happens next – whether the narrator gave birth to a baby, what happened after that, did she fall in love, did she get married, did she finally manage to travel to Siberia.

‘To Siberia’ had what I have come to expect out of a Per Petterson book now – long and beautiful sentences. However, in this book, the focus was more on the plot rather than on the sentences and the language. I somehow felt that this was one of his early works and Petterson’s prose was still getting finetuned and it all came together gloriously in ‘Out Stealing Horses’. I liked ‘To Siberia’ – not as much as ‘Out Stealing Horses’, but I still liked it. It is a story of growing up, of the love between brothers and sisters, of how the Second World War affected people.

I will leave you with some of my favourite passages from the book.

And then it began to rain. It came from all directions at full speed and not on us, but against us with the wind right in our faces; we tried to turn away, walk sideways so as not to drown and Jesper gave up and ran out into the middle of the road and began to dance with his arms in the air.

When they have gone away they leave a dusty emptiness behind them, the air is stuffy and lifeless like the bottom of a purse, and my father gets to work on the cupboard or the chest and shapes up and remakes and polishes and rubs until the surfaces shine with the glow that is at the heart of all wood, shining without any varnish and with handles of finely carved bone. After a few days they come to fetch it, and then the piece stands there in the centre of the floor as good as new, better than new, and I have searched for the word year after year, looked it up in books and thought and pondered and found substance. They bring a wreck and leave with substance, and they see it and look dumbfounded and praise my father until his ears flame. When they have gone he has charged them the same amount as last year and the year before that and the year before that again.

“I thought you were an angel,” he mumbled.
“Angels have fair hair. Besides, they don’t exist.”
“Mine do, and they have dark hair.”

“You can learn a lot about human beings by studying insects,” he says, “their world is like ours in miniature, they just have a far better distribution of work.” There may be clarity and contrasts in Lone’s family, but I don’t care for insects. Insects scratch and tickle, they creep up under your dress and sting you.

I usually sit listening, and a lot of what was said was meant for me. I was a woman and young, and they grew red in the face and excited, with their hands in the air competing for who would come out with the most brilliant riposte. Those elderly men infected me with their enthusiasm, they did not speak in one voice, they interrupted each other and dressed up history in words and flickering yellow-brown pictures until it felt like a home, and I was the guest of honour.

Have you read ‘To Siberia’? What do you think about it?

[Paulo Alexandre Alves · Rating 3 out of 5]

I don't know what to say about this book exactly. It's my third by this author and he tends to loose me when he gets into too much details, and I don't feel connected with the characters.
I really like to read Nordic authors and experience their slow pace, the way they seem to understand human nature and their connection to what surrounds them. But this doesn't seem to be the case with this author. I always get the feeling that some depth is missing. My fault, for sure. But it is what it is.

[Aslihan Yayla · Rating 4 out of 5]

Bir aile iki kardeş ve nihai sonuç savaş adım adım kapıda... Bir çocuk gözünden Danimarka topraklarında Nazi baskısı altında yaşam mücadelesi veren bir aileyi okuyoruz.

Kızın ismi yok, o sadece erkek kardeşi Jasper'a hayran ve abisiyle hayaller kuran bir genç kız aslında. Ne oldu peki? Savaş soğuğu iliklerinize kadar işliyor, öyle ki sokağa çıkamıyorsun. Eğlenmek, hayal kurmak için bile mi? Aynen öyle okur, öyle ki bu hikayede sadece Jasper hayalinde olan Fas'a gidebiliyor. Bizim kız ne alemde? 1934 Noel'i Jasper ile kaçıp ahırın iki ayrı bölmesinde ısınmak için ineklere şarkı söyleyerek uykuya daldıkları o anını anımsayan o kız hala hayatta ve sana bana bu masalı anlatıyor.

Per Petterson'ı hiç okumayanlara onu anlatmak için ufak bir tüyo vereyim; o her cümlesini okuttuktan sonra bir cam kırığının kesiği gibi taze izler bırakır. Öyle gerçektir ki canınız acır, merak eder akıbeti ne olacak diye düşünerek soğuk bir nefes gibi okutur kendini size. İşte böyle bir şey Petterson okumak, gerçekliğe yakın metinleri okumak isteyenlere tavsiyemdir.

#sibiryahayali #perpetterson #metisyayınları

[Joan Winnek · Rating 5 out of 5]

This story is even more poignant than Out Stealing Horses, and as beautifully written. Here is a passage to illustrate the writing:
I cycle north at dust towards Kæret Beach past the marshes at Ronnene where the seagulls sit in long rows in the shallows beyond the reeds,and all the rows take off as I ride past, unfold like gray-white sheets and land again in the dim light that slowly fades and disappears towards Skagen. There are thousands of them. I hear their soft rushing and feel the wind in my face as if this were the last time I would cycle here in just this way, and I see myself from the outside as more and more often I do, in a film at the Palace Theater progressively pone row of seats farther back from the screen, on the same brown bicycle I have had for many years, and my hair streams back and at the same time almost merges with the advancing night, and I hear the creaking of my right pedal against the chain guard, squeak, squeak, again and again a thousand times, and my breath, puff, puff, quite alone with no other sound now the gulls are silent.
The unnamed narrator is strong like Lisbeth in Stieg Larsson's, but not twisted. Her relationship with her brother Jesper is central to the story, even when they are apart: all other characters seem peripheral.

[Ida Jackson · Rating 5 out of 5]

Du vet moren til hovedpersonen i Jeg forbanner tidens elv? Dette er romanen om oppveksten hennes, på tredve og førtitallet i Danmark. Den er fantastisk. Og Petterson er kanskje den av de gamle ML-forfatterne som skriver de beste kvinnene. Dag Solstad skildrer kvinner som om han var et romvesen som hadde fått forklart kjønnsdrift i voksen alder. Petterson skildrer svangerskapskvalme innenfra på en måte som lurer meg til å tro at han har vært litt gravid selv.