Mánasteinn - Drengurinn sem aldrei var til

by Sjón

Árið er 1918 og frá Reykjavík má sjá eldgosið í Kötlu mála himininn nótt sem dag. Lífið í höfuðstaðnum gengur sinn vanagang þrátt fyrir náttúruhamfarir, kolaskort og styrjöldina úti í hinum stóra heimi. Íslendingar búa sig undir að verða fullvalda þjóð.

Drengurinn Máni Steinn lifir í kvikmyndunum. Sofandi dreymir hann myndirnar í tilbrigðum þar sem vefur atburðanna er slunginn þráðum úr hans eigin lífi. Vakandi hefst hann við á jaðri samfélagsins.

En þá tekur spænska veikin land og leggur þúsundir bæjarbúa á sóttarsæng, sviptir hundruð lífinu. Skuggar tilverunnar dýpka. Í brjósti Mána Steins ólmast svartir vængir. Það súgar milli heima í veröld þar sem líf og dauði, veruleiki og ímyndun, leyndarmál og afhjúpanir vegast á.

Sjón fékk Bókmenntaverðlaun Norðurlandaráðs árið 2005 fyrir Skugga-Baldur. Hann hefur gefið út fjölda skáldverka sem þýdd hafa verið á erlend tungumál.

Genres: Fiction, Historical Fiction, LGBT, Queer, Historical, Literary Fiction, Gay

127 pages, Hardcover

First published October 22, 2013

About the author

Sjón (Sigurjón B. Sigurðsson) was born in Reykjavik on the 27th of August, 1962. He started his writing career early, publishing his first book of poetry, Sýnir (Visions), in 1978. Sjón was a founding member of the surrealist group, Medúsa, and soon became significant in Reykjavik's cultural landscape.

Since then, his prolific writing drove him to pen song lyrics, scripts for movies and of course novels such as The Blue Fox.

Reviews

[Zoë · Rating 3 out of 5]

Read during my holiday 24-hour readathon, #readathonbyzoe! Watch the vlog here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KcLPp...

[Elyse Walters · Rating 5 out of 5]

ZERO SPOILERS..... NONE!!!!! ( seems I've been here before)....but I feel it's best NOT TO SHARE THE CONTENT. I'd like to pass this book on to others in the same way I read it. Knowing nothing about it.

This is the first book I've read that takes place in Iceland. My 30 year old daughter works there every summer, so I was interested in anything 'Iceland'.
I didn't know one iota about the story. I had not even read the blurb. I stopped reading the blurb after half of the first sentence ....
"The year is 1918 and in Iceland......"

I COULD NOT PULL MYSELF AWAY. I can't seem to find a word to describe how I'm feeling, though. The closest I can come to describing my feeling --
is that of being punched in my gut.

I also feel a little stupid -- maybe it's my head that needs a punch.
A variety of thoughts ran through me while turning the pages.
Please remember - I knew NOTHING about this story. I just started reading.

My random thoughts:
AT THE START:
"Holy shit"....."I need to be in Iceland for this?"

BEFORE HALF WAY:
"Something tells me we aren't going to be visiting the hot springs"

MIDDLE:
"Is this a Science Fiction book"?

BEFORE THE END:
"I'm smart now, (finally). ...."Holy shit, (again, I'm swearing), .. this is an actual historical period of time". Oh my God!!!!!!! How stupid can I be?

THE END:
I felt numb.

Devastating...shocking discovery for me ( but that's because I was ignorant), very well written, sad.
Recommend for Mature Adult readers ....
For those who are brave....avoid REVIEWS!

5 stars

[Fabian · Rating 4 out of 5]

Did this boy really live or is he but a monument on which to splatter all of our dreams & desires? Is he historical artifact or a faux existence that transcends all forms of classification?

In this, a majorly taut & infinitely "intriguesting" short novel by one of the frequent collaborators of worldwide mega songstress Bjork, we encounter lively magic & tragic history, mingled into a new form of genre that intoxicates the senses. It's a major thing in disguise of a minor novel.

[Meike · Rating 5 out of 5]

Swedish Academy Nordic Prize 2023 ("little Nobel") for Sjón!
Icelandic Literary Prize for Fiction and Icelandic Bookseller's Novel of the Year for "Moonstone"
Sjón is a genius – there, I said it. He manages to capture the spirit of Iceland, its roughness as well as its enchanting powers, in prose that is both forceful and dreamlike, and I love him for it. In the tradition of the sagas, he blends fact with fiction in this historic novella which tells the story of orphaned 16-year-old Máni Steinn, a lonely, queer school drop-out who is earning money as a teenage prostitute in Reykjavik, 1918. He was brought up by his great-grandmother's sister in an attic and tries to flee dire reality which does not offer a place for himself.

What makes the book so strong is how Sjón blurs historic events like the Spanish flu that ravaged parts of the island during that time and the Danish-Icelandic Act of Union that was signed in December 1918 with Máni’s wild imagination. Máni loves the cinema, he watches all silent movies shown in Iceland, which is rather historically representative: As Sjón found out in his research, Icelanders have for decades been at the top of the list of cinemagoers in the world, per capita. Máni especially loves the surrealist classic "Les Vampires" by Louis Feuillade about the criminal anarchist bande à Bonnot – the woman he loves, motorcycle enthusiast Sóla G-, looks like Musidora, the movie star playing the main role of Irma Vep. Not only does Máni draw such connections, his mind also wanders off, he dreams about movies, and the actual reality he experiences partly becomes a pastiche. Sjón manages to make the whole text feel like the written equivalent of a silent movie: Máni becomes a part of historic events and through his sprawling imagination elevates them not to a mythological level: According to the author: Máni represents the moon and Sóla (as the name suggests) the sun.

In addition to that, there is an insane amount of smart and funny hints that Sjón plants in the text (some of them being references to further movies and books) that give the narrative even more depth and layers of meaning. One book that is not mentioned by name but recognizable in its outline in the context of Máni’s coming-of-age is Camus' The Plague - the plague Sjón tells us about being the Spanish flu in Iceland, from which people actually did seek refuge in cinemas, which remained open. But it is also a sinister foreshadowing to the AIDS epidemic, as the text slowly reveals. National sovereignty (kind of), a pandemic, the eruption of the volcano Katla - 1918 was a particularly busy and difficult year for the Icelandic population.

Apart from that, "Moonstone" is also a memento for the queer Icelandic community and their struggle against discrimination: The book is dedicated to Sjón's uncle Bósi who died from AIDS-related illnesses in 1993. At the end of Sjón’s hallucinatory novella, set 10 years after the main narrative, there is a reveal that allows the reader to see the book in a whole new light. Stunningly beautiful - and, for some readers, apparently provocative: The opening scene is the first depiction of a blowjob in Icelandic literature! ;-)

You can listen to my interview with Sjón (mainly about CoDex 1962: A Trilogy) here.

[Ярослава]

Цей текст побудований на буквально найненависнішому для мене структурному ході - але це, здається, єдиний випадок на моїй пам'яті, де цей хід, до речі, таки працює. Категорично не треба знати спойлерів, бо вся повість - це анекдот заради останнього пуанту, але цей пуант packs one hell of a punch і витягує текст на один щабель вище.

П'ятнадцятирічний Мані Стен, сирота, school dropout і злидар, ходить на всі фільми, які показують у його рідному Рейк'явіку. Заробляє на життя проституцією. Допомагає возити хворих - лютує епідемія іспанки. Майже стає свідком проголошення незалежності своєї країни - але таки не стає, бо в цей час утверджує свою власну незалежність, своє власне право жити так, як хоче. Імпресіоністичні замальовки, приправлені роздумами про перетин мистецтва і бажання, про свободу експерименту в мистецтві і свободу експерименту в житті (о, те дзвінке покоління модерністів 1920-30-х), про те, що люди завжди приписують хворобам етичний вимір - і чому це небезпечно, тощо-тощо. 
Один герой повістини (наймудакуватіший) порівнює театр із кіно не на користь останнього: кіно - гламурна картинка, щоб нею милуватися, з кіном ти взаємодієш, як із покірним об'єктом; театр - діалог двох суб'єктів, актор може на тебе дивитися, може заговорити до тебе. Саме порівняння - ну, такоє, з ним полемізуватимуть інші герої тексту, але воно корисне для того, щоб без спойлерів описати фінал. Основна частина тексту - мила гламурна картинка, щоб спостерігати; абсолютно необов'язкова; загалом, кіно за визначенням того героя - а потім фінал піднімає на тебе погляд і питає: а чому ми хочемо дивитися саме це кіно. Чи немає там, за екраном, великої порожнечі. Чи не чесніше говорити про порожнечу, а не про екран перед нею.

Видано дуже гарно - як завжди у Видавництва - гарнющий шрифт, ілюстрації-розгортки:




Переклад теж очікувано добрий, але дрібні дойобки сховаю під спойлер-кат - там не спойлери, а моє дурне бе-бе-бе, яке свідчить виключно про те, що я дуже довіряю цьому перекладачу, цій редакторській команді й цьому видавництву - якби нічого не очікувала, то й питань не було б:
око подекуди шпортається об якісь дивні слововжитки штибу "каламарів з мікстурами" й "утрунення" - можливо, так робили архаїзацію, але ця химерність подана надто гомеопатичними дозами, щоб задати стиль, і дуже вже контрастує з усім іншим, що ми знаємо про оповідача. Тобто мовних екзотів треба або послідовно більше, або не треба взагалі (залежно від того, що там в оригіналі).
Примітки теж розподілені нерівномірно: вони є там, де з контексту, в принципі, й так усе ясно, натомість немає в парі моментів, де вони реально не завадили б (скажімо, лікар консервативних поглядів приходить до хворого, а той каже - "Не зважайте, що я читаю ["Мікаеля"] Германа Банґа, лікарю, ліпше пограйте у Спасителя й поверніть мене до життя". Тобто ясно, що текст десь суперечить поглядам лікаря, але читачеві, який не має енциклопедичних знань у царині призабутої німецької літератури й німого кіно, доведеться гуглити самотужки, що це про кохання художника до його натурника, що десь перегукується з сюжетом. Якщо вже розставляти примітки, то послідовно.)

[Berengaria · Rating 5 out of 5]

5 stars
*highly recommended*

short review for busy readers: an excellent LGBT+ novella that examines one particular, very important moment in modern Icelandic history in a diamond-sharp, multifaceted way. Semi-poetic language, fast shifting scenes, atmospheric with vivid descriptions. Some readers might be put off by the few, but explicit descriptions of gay male sex as well as the detailed symptoms of Spanish Influenza.

in detail:
This novella starts in 1918 when a young gay boy who is in love with the cinema starts sleeping with men for money. He meets a mysterious girl on motorcycle and they become a team of sorts when the Spanish flu arrives in Reykjavik and people start dying en masse.

In the midst of all this despair and death, Iceland gains its independence from Denmark, but the boy (Moonstone) and the girl have other things on their minds.

It is with these three topics - cinema, Spanish flu, national independence - that Sjon masterfully reflects the situation of gay people in the 20th century, and Moonstone in particular.

With the cinema, there is the dream of love, beauty, drama and happy endings. An alternate world where things can be different than they are. With the Spanish flu there come the threats. Not only of deadly illnesses, but also of exposure and being thought of as sick and infecting the people around them. With independence comes the maturity of going one’s own way and not being subject to the control of others.

I had heard, of course, of the Spanish Flu and how many people it killed, but I had no idea that the symptoms were that bad, nor bloody. (Far, far worse than Covid!) Also fascinating was the notion even at that early period that the cinema was harmful to your health! A notion that is still relevant today with streaming and cell phone addiction.

Moonstone is a story that says a lot with a little. And all of it important and still relevant to our time, 100 years later.

[Richard Derus · Rating 5 out of 5]

2020 UPDATE The BBC World Bookclub wants your questions for Sjón here by 10 December.

Rating: 5* of five

My new #review is live today. MOONSTONE: The Boy Who Never Was is truly jaw-dropping. From the review: "Sjón operates equally lyrically when describing the antiquated views of the doctor and the simple survival techniques of Máni."

Farrar, Straus and Giroux gets 5 full stars because they chose Victoria Cribb to translate this book. Clearly she is fearless! This is a must-read for anyone interested in #LGBTQ lit.

[Antonomasia · Rating 4 out of 5]

ARC review
Probably my favourite of Sjón's four books translated to English, and if it hadn't been for a handful of pages, would have made it to 4.5-rounded-up-to-5. A tiny, barely novella-length, story about a shy 16-year-old gay cineaste living through the 1918 influenza pandemic and the same year's Icelandic independence, here was a protagonist and setting that finally made me feel why the author's works are often called magical. There wasn't as much brutality here as in his other books - I'm not saying none though - and besides, I have a thing about historical epidemics. (Probably similar to whatever kick some people get from ghost and horror stories.) And, whilst I'm interested in Iceland, I'd never heard much detail about this part of its history before: a significant volcanic eruption, the coal shortage that people had to deal with on top of everything else, the fondness for cinema which was at least as much present in Reykjavik as in other world cities, a very small place growing ever smaller (no competent musicians left to accompany the films - and that's even before the disease got so great a hold that the cinemas were closed), feeling more like a village from centuries ago than a mainland Continental idea of an inter-war European capital. That is the Iceland of Sjón's books, when it was a remote, harsh backwater of Europe, not a contemporary cool destination with high quality of life.

The furtiveness, the sexiness and the loneliness of Máni Steinn's existence really grabbed me, right from the first scene, like a more graphic and succesful version of The Smiths' 'This Charming Man': a surprisingly detailed account of a roadside blowjob. (Sjón never really went in for extended sex scenes in his other books.) And a few minutes later the enigmatic Sóla appears, a stunning apparition sounding for all the world like Marianne Faithfull in Girl on a Motorcycle: his local gay icon, the one girl he was ever attracted to, a fag hag, a lesbian, or maybe all of these? After all, minority sexuality wasn't as clearly defined when it had to be underground. More than with any other of the author's protagonists, I felt drawn into Máni's world, and wanted to be. (One supporting character, however, seemed like spiritual and intellectual kin to the unpleasant bore Valdimar Haraldsson from The Whispering Muse.)

Once, I might have had reservations about the modernity of Máni's attitude to films, but a few months ago, I read of characters with similar levels of movie buffery in P.G. Wodehouse stories written only a few years after this is set. Right from its first mainstreaming the medium clearly attracted those with dual propensities to geek out and to dream.

Victoria Cribb's translation and writing is, presumably, maturing. I used to be disappointed with some of her translations, compared with those by the late Bernard Scudder, but here everything felt right - and occasional half-hidden popculture allusions, like "the sick and the dead" sound just right when translating a writer who used to be in bands and has been involved in so much of his local cultural scene.

Moonstone was short enough already - in paper copies, a good few of the quoted 160 pages are probably blank except for chapter numbers - yet there were two points at which I wished the book had stopped earlier. I had a few reservations about the dream sequences, but then I usually do - my dreams tend to be realistic or transparently related to things I've been doing or thinking about; the Buñuelesque scenes found in stories like these seem too elaborate to be true. YM, of course, MV. But otherwise, the first nearly 80% of the book was practically perfect. And, yes, the following are big spoilers.
1) Just before Máni is caught with the Danish sailor and locked up. It was horrible having to fall back into the man-made brutality found in other Sjón novels, whose absence I'd been glad of here, and the way he is extricated seemed a bit too good to be true. I'd completely, unhesitatingly believed the book before, but after this point it felt too much like a made-up fairytale - though it was a nice idea, and perhaps not completely out of the question, to have him sent to London to an Icelandic playwright who was, presumably, also gay. And through such a man it's also far from impossible he'd make the acquaintance of other art world figures, or end up living in Chelsea, which was fairly scruffy at the time anyway.
2) Just after he's returned to Iceland with the POOL poets. Which would be the best point before he turns into the butterfly. That was like the archetypal schoolchild's story ending "and then I woke up and it was all a dream". What a copout. Sjón's little dedication to his deceased gay uncle following on from that was very sweet, but it could have been a separate page at the end.
However. This interview, which I read the day after finishing the book, so as to avoid spoilers, hints that the butterfly moment may be about Máni's, or gay Icelanders' erasure from history, as well as the silence over the events of the flu epidemic. Which increases my respect for the book.

I would kind of really recommend this book if you like its sort of thing - but also be braced for the odd crushing disappointment.

This was a free advance review copy from Netgalley and the publisher, Sceptre (part of Hachette UK).

[Sue · Rating 5 out of 5]

A fable, A metaphor, a parable, a very fevered dream? Just what has Sjon given us in this short novel set in Iceland in the waning days of the Great War, during a time of major change, loss. In this story told largely from the point of view of a sixteen year old gay boy who lives for the joys of the films he sees as often as possible at the two theaters in the city, we see different ways of belonging or feeling alien in your own skin, your town, your life. There are some brilliant parallels drawn in this simple yet complex tale.

A copy of this book was provided by the publisher through NetGalley in return for an honest review.

[Sofia · Rating 5 out of 5]

It is not hardship for me to believe that Sjon is a poet as he creates pictures with just a few well chosen words. So in this relatively short piece he is able to give all the background necessary for me to imagine Mani's Reykjavik in 1918. I did not need elaborate descriptions just his few paintstrokes.

I'm left in admiration at how he honours his family, his Iceland, intertwining it with the Boy's story and opening my eyes that people at that time where fighting another war, a war with a deadly virus whilst the heart of Europe was winding down it's efforts to turn it's men into cannon fodder. The Spanish Flu of 1918-1920 in fact killed an estimated 50 million worldwide. More than that it made me see Mani, the boy who disappeared. I imagine that a lot of boys like him fell through the cracks and disappeared, so easily forgotten.

[Inna · Rating 4 out of 5]

Коли «іспанка» так нестерпно нагадує СНІД, а головний герой святкує проголошення незалежності власної країни забороненим тоді (1918!) сексом з данським моряком (оце тепер у моїй голові асоціація складеться:)), це означає, що ти пробираєшся крізь доволі незвичайний текст про болючу сторінку ісландської історії. А ще здається, що це ефектне закінчення Сйон прописав ледь не найпершим.

[Great-O-Khan · Rating 5 out of 5]

Sjón erzählt in diesem kurzen und kurzweiligem Roman eine Außenseitergeschichte vor eindrucksvoll cineastischer Kulisse. Der namensgebende Junge heißt Máni Steinn Karlsson. Er lebt im Jahr 1918 in Reykjavik. Island steht kurz vor der Unabhängigkeit. Der Vulkan Katla bricht aus. Die Spanische Grippe erreicht die Stadt. Der wichtigste Ort für den Protagonisten ist das Kino. Zehn Jahre nach den beschriebenen Ereignissen kehrt er nach Island, das er wegen seiner Homosexualität verlassen musste, zurück.

Es ist ein historischer Roman, aber er wirkt sehr gegenwärtig. Das liegt unter anderem an der Sprache. Diese ist mit Ausnahme der isländischen Namen und Begriffe leicht lesbar, eben sehr gegenwärtig. Die doppelten Böden entstehen eher durch das Erzählte als durch die Sprache. Gerade das gefällt mir sehr gut. So leicht sich der Roman auch liest, so stark schwingen die Szenen doch nach.

Das Auftauchen der Spanischen Grippe kann man heute als Bezug zu Corona lesen. Allerdings ist das Buch im Original 2013 und in der deutschen Übersetzung 2015 - also lange vor Corona - erschienen. Aber ist das nicht ein Zeichen großer Literatur? Die Welt verändert sich und mit ihr die Wirkmächtigkeit eines wahrhaft guten Textes.

[somuchreading · Rating 5 out of 5]

Αυτό το πολύ μικρό βιβλιαράκι του Ισλανδού Sjón είναι ένα μεγάλο διαμαντάκι.

Μιλάμε για μια νουβέλα με ιστορικό background, που διαδραματίζεται στην Ισλανδία του 1918, που είναι μια ιστορία αγάπης για τον κινηματογράφο, αλλά και μια κανονική ιστορία αγάπης, αλλά και μια ιστορία ενηλικίωσης, τη στιγμή που στους δρόμους του Ρέικιαβικ φτάνει η Ισπανική Γρίπη και η χώρα αποκτά την ανεξαρτησία της από τη Δανία, με κεντρικό ήρωα τον Mani, ένα 16χρονο ορφανό.

Ο τρόπος γραφής του Sjón είναι ιδιαίτερος: Χτίζει ατμόσφαιρα από τις πρώτες του κιόλας προτάσεις, δημιουργεί ένα μελαγχολικό, ονειρικό περιβάλλον, προσθέτει την τέχνη, την αρρώστια, την αγάπη σε ίσους τόνους και δημιουργεί έν�� σπάνιο μείγμα που εγώ πρώτη φορά συναντώ στη λογοτεχνία.

Το διαφορετικό, το ξένο, το αλλιώτικο, ακόμη κι όταν αυτό πηγάζει από τα πιο απλά στοιχεία που συνθέτουν το Moonstone: The Boy Who Never Was, αποτυπώνουν μια Ισλανδία κι έναν κόσμο που αντανακλά στο σήμερα, εκεί που 99 χρόνια μετά τον Mani, όσοι δεν ταιριάζουν με τα πρότυπα που ορίζει η συντηρητική κοινωνία, αντιμετωπίζονται με, το λιγότερο, υποτιμητικό τρόπο.

Ναι, πρέπει οπωσδήποτε να διαβάσω κι άλλον Sjón, κι άλλη μοντέρνα ισλανδική λογοτεχνία.

Moonstone: The Boy Who Never Was: ★★★★½

[Doug · Rating 5 out of 5]

4.5, rounded up.

This fast-paced short novella (there are a LOT of blank pages and white space, so it can be read in little over an hour) combines fascinating histories of Iceland's independence, the Spanish flu epidemic, the early movies ... with the queer sensibility of an outsider observing it all. [Side note - for someone married with children, Sjón certainly writes convincingly erotic homosex!] The surprising ending only further elevates what is already an astonishingly assured work, even in translation. Eager to read more from Sjón.

[Liviu Szoke · Rating 4 out of 5]

O excelentă cronică, foarte pe scurt însă, a felului în care s-a răspândit cumplita gripă spaniolă în Reykjavikul anului 1918, spusă prin prisma lui Mani Stein, un adolescent de șaisprezece ani cu foarte puțină școală, rămas orfan și crescut de biata sa bunică într-o sărăcie lucie. Băiatul însă, descurcăreț din fire și capabil să facă orice pentru a supraviețui, se apucă să satisfacă „nevoile” unor domni dispuși să se despartă de niscaiva părăluțe în schimbul unor servicii complete din partea unui băiat tânăr și viguros.
Cumplite sunt imaginile cu oameni care pică pe stradă din pricina unei boli pe care, la început, toți o considerau o simplă gripă care va trece foarte repede și nici nu va crea dezastru în micul lor orășel, darămite în lumea întreagă, sau cele cu case întregi pline de morți sau muribunzi întinși în paturi, ori oameni albi ca varul, zdraveni până mai ieri, care se sting de la o zi la alta.
În doar o sută cincizeci de pagini scrise cu un font atipic pentru Biblioteca Polirom, scriitorul islandez izbutește să creioneze nu doar evoluția unei boli care a făcut ravagii în lumea întreagă și a dat, poate, omenirea înapoi cu câțiva ani buni (după ce abia se încheiase Marele Război), ci și o poveste de viață extrem de tristă, în care bietul Mani Steinn ajunge să fie condamnat tocmai de cei cărora le satisfăcuse nevoile nu cu mult timp în urmă.
Mai multe, în revista OPT Motive nr. 39/2020: https://optmotive.ro/2020/39/art9/ind....

[George Ilsley · Rating 5 out of 5]

This short work is many things at once — a hybrid work of fiction based on non-fiction that includes documentary photos of the non-fiction that inspired the Icelandic magic realism fiction. Old movies flicker in the dark, adding a layer of illusion, artifice, and false but permanent memory.

David Mitchell's blurb calls this "a slim, simmering masterpiece" and one can easily see why, based on its swift pace, spare structure, big themes, and walloping ending. It is a short book, with an impact greater than the sum of its parts.

Also, because much of the book details the arrival of the 1918 Flu epidemic in Reykjavik, the prose is even more creepy and evocative during the current pandemic. Other elements too, which I won't mention, add to this atmosphere. Wow, wow, and wow.

[Conor Ahern · Rating 2 out of 5]

The reviews for this short novella seem pretty polarized between people who have it one star and failed to finish, and those who gave it five stars and were enthralled by the “big reveal” on the final page. I made it to the end because I read this for a book club (god help us), but clearly was neither as impressed by the storycraft nor gobsmacked by the “reveal.”

It’s just a spare, poetic set of vignettes covering the Great War-era goings on of an Icelandic hustler. Not much to it, from my vantage.

[Людмила · Rating 5 out of 5]

Вперше книгу прочитала двічі за один раз. Невеликий роман захоплює та випробовує своєю різкою відвертістю та глибиною образів.
На поверхні роману уривки життя підлітка Мані Стена на тлі тогочасних "хвороб" - втрати матері через проказу, Першої Світової, епідемії "іспанки" в Ісландії. В своїй самотність він створює власний світ, наповнений кінематографом, почуттями та коханцями, снами та уривками спогадів.
Але глибше - це вже про "хлопця, якого не було" - про незручні покоління, що не існують для цинічного суспільства та через це приречені на втрату через нові хвороби.

[Jenny (Reading Envy) · Rating 4 out of 5]

Máni Steinn is a young gay man in Reykjavik, in 1918. The novella is really a capture of a moment in Iceland's history when the cinema is new but also instrumental in spreading the deadly Spanish flu. This is the last year of non-independence for the island country.

[Anika · Rating 4 out of 5]

Wunderschön, kraftvoll und trotz einer Handlung, die vor mehr als 100 Jahren spielt (1918, um genau zu sein), überraschend zeitgemäß. Sjón erzählt von einem einsamen, queeren Teenager, der das Kino bzw. Stummfilme liebt - und um den herum die Spanische Grippe ausbricht. Vor allem aber ist es ein Roman über Island und die ganz besondere Magie dieses Landes, die sich vor allem im Ende nochmals entfaltet. Mystisch mag ich eigentlich nicht, aber von Sjón lass' ich mich gerne verzaubern.

[Frau Becker · Rating 3 out of 5]

Die Inhalte, die Sjon in seinem Roman berührt, reichen locker für ein 600-Seiten-Epos: die isländische Unabhängigkeit, das Wüten der Spanischen Grippe in Reykjavik, ein Vulkanausbruch, das Schicksal eines cinephilen Straßenjungen, der sich als Stricher durchschlägt… Von alldem erzählt der Autor auf gerade mal knapp 150 locker gesetzten Seiten. Die Beschreibungen der Handlung gewinnen angesichts dieser Reduktion etwas Schlaglichtartiges, zudem wirkt der Protagonist häufig seltsam emotional unbeteiligt, Einblicke in das Innenleben dieser und anderer Figuren sind rar. Erst im Schlusskapitel, das 11 Jahre nach der eigentlichen Handlung spielt, wird vieles klarer, wenn sich auch hier nicht alles erschließt an diesem durchaus rätselhaften Text, der einerseits durchsetzt ist mit surrealistischen Momenten und verstörenden Szenen einer Stadt fest im Griff einer Seuche. Das hat in Einzelszenen äußerst starke Momente, doch findet der Roman so recht nicht seine Mitte. Die historische Umbruchsituation und die damit einhergehende gesellschaftliche Erschütterung ist offenkundig und doch bleibt die Perspektivfigur davon scheinbar unberührt, tritt in keine wirkliche Verbindung zu ihrer Umwelt und damit auch zum Leser. Allein das Kino entlockt ihm emotionale Beteiligung, alles andere bleibt äußerlich. Das hier nicht alles offen ausgedeutet wird, ist einerseits recht wohltuend und doch sind die Fährten, die der Autor zum Verständnis des Textes legt, bis zuletzt recht spärlich.

[Ammar · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is the first book that I have read by Sjon.

A novella set in the end of WW1 in Iceland and also through the Spanish Flu.

Mani Steinn our protagonist is 16 years old. Gay. Movie goer. Who comes of age during this period and through him we see a side of the Icelandic society that's less well knows to others.

The novella does contain graphic homosexual sex scenes that are quiet long in some chapters regarding this is a short book.

The prose is beautiful and the translation is very flowing and poetical.

A highly recommended book of 2016.

[Tatiana · Rating 2 out of 5]

Dare I say the brilliance of this tiny novel is grossly exaggerated? Or I just didn't "get it"? (and I tried to "get it" really hard.

2 stars for Spanish Flu in Reykjavik. Didn't understand how the rest of this connected.

[Alexandru · Rating 1 out of 5]

Nu am notat niciodată o carte doar cu o stea, dar povestea de față m-a dezamăgit groaznic. Mă așteptam să descopăr Islanda și cultura nordică, să aflu cum a trecut țara prin gripa spaniolă și cum a afectat-o Primul Război Mondial pentru că asta promite cartea în descriere (!!), dar autorul m-a pierdut încă de la prima pagină unde s-a gândit să introducă scena cu un băiat de 16 ani care “suge un penis”. Aham, pe parcurs sunt mai multe scene homosexuale decât aș fi crezut că îmi pot imagina. Și chiar nu sunt homofob, dar voiam să-mi petrec timpul citind amănunte interesante despre Islanda, nu cum “barba îi gâdilă testiculele” (expresie din carte). A, în descrierea cărții este menționată vag și erupția unui vulcan, dar ghiciți ce se întâmplă în timpul ăla. A, la fel și în timpul intonării imnului Islandei. Aham, bingo!

Pe coperta cărții scrie “Manasteinn se înscrie între marile opere literare despre viața în timpul epidemiei de gripă spaniolă.” Din punctul meu de vedere, o mare minciună! Dacă nu aș fi știut că este scrisă de un autor premiat, aș fi spus că povestea asta este înșirată de un elev de liceu care trebuie să scrie o compunere ceva mai lungă pentru a trece clasa.

Acum.. poate am judecat sub impulsul momentului și am fost prea aspru, dar mă așteptam la cu totul altceva și cred că primul meu contact cu literatura islandeză s-a transformat într-o imensă dezamăgire. Sorry, Sjon!

[Ilonka Sheleshko · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5⭐️

мелодійно, чуттєво і вкрай дивно

[Eric Anderson · Rating 5 out of 5]

Author Sjón has found an extraordinarily creative way of entering into a crucial period of Iceland’s history in his novel “Moonstone” by inventing a boy. The majority of the novel takes place in the later part of 1918. At this time the country gained its independence as a sovereign state while also experiencing devastating losses in its population because of the spread of the Spanish flu. The boy Máni Steinn sells his body to older men and lives with an old lady. He goes to the cinema as much as possible. Here he becomes entranced by a French silent serial film Les Vampires. An outsider's perspective and the surreal crimes of this thriller combine in the boy’s imagination. A woman he idolizes merges with the French actress Musidora. The fluttering of a red scarf mirrors the image of the volcano Katla’s eruption. Through this point of view we feel a fresh version of the country’s transformation. We see it through queer eyes. Within the historic changes of a nation are inserted the creative possibilities of lives and ideas which surviving documents haven’t recorded.

Read my full review of Moonstone by Sjón on LonesomeReader

[Hákon Gunnarsson · Rating 4 out of 5]

1918 was a terribly eventful year in Icelandic history: the year began with the worst cold in years, then there was the Spanish flu, Icelanders voted for independence from Danmark, the volcano Katla erupted, and so on. It was also a time when being gay was illegal in Iceland. All this is in the background of this novella that tells the story of Máni, a 16 year old gay Icelander living in Reykjavík.

It’s a short book, a novella, and in many ways that’s a good thing. I didn’t feel anything was there that could have been left out, but there are a few things that I think I would have liked to hear more about. That being said, I think this is a beautiful, poetic story, with a occasional dash of surrealism that one can expect of Sjón. It is somewhat explicit, but I didn’t feel it ever went over the top.

I can’t say anything about the English translation as listened to Sjón read it in Icelandic, but I hope it does this book justice.

[Liam Ostermann · Rating 5 out of 5]

This slim novel is so beautiful that I don't know how to convey just how profoundly and powerfully it affected me. It is more than a revelation, it is the fulfilment of the promise made to me as a child struggling to learn to read that, once I could, books would open up a world of enjoyment and pleasure that nothing else would consistently supply. 'Moonstone' is wonderful - funny, sexy, challenging and utterly compelling. While reading it I didn't want it to end yet at its end I knew it was perfect and could not do anything but end when it did. At the end all I could do was weep for a story that was a powerful affirmation of love in all its carnality and emotion. I believed it completely. I do not know what I would not say in praise of this novel.

I cannot urge too strongly, or insistently, that you read this book. Indeed I would insist that it is a novel you must read as soon as possible because no one has the right to deny themselves the exquisite pleasure this short novel provides. It will haunt you ever after but it is the haunting of a beautiful memory, it will become your own 'Le Grand Meaulnes'. For me 'Moonstone' is one of the works of literature which helped me to see what Sidney Smith meant when he described heaven as like 'eating pâté de foie gras to the sound of trumpets'.

[Ralu · Rating 3 out of 5]

O combinație hipnotică de sordid, gingășie și tristețe, insuficient de mult dezvoltată.

[Ms.pegasus · Rating 3 out of 5]

Nightmares and reality embrace in this intense novel. An extended passage of explicit homosexuality fills the opening paragraphs. However, even as the “client” summons lewd thoughts to achieve his climax, sixteen year old Máni Steinn Karlsson's mind dwells on Sóla G, the beautiful girl he equates with the elusive cat-suited criminal of a French nihilist film series. He hears the approaching roar of her motorcycle. A wordless consciousness of her presence heightens the eroticism of the moment.

French nihilism is the perfect vehicle to ignite the boy's imagination. The year is 1918. The legitimacy of conventional authority is eroding as World War I drags on. The violence and audacity depicted in the films of Louis Feuillades with Musidora his charismatic star articulate a cry against the old order which has been percolating up from mainland Europe.

Icelandic society is particularly conservative due to its geographic isolation. The language has changed little since the 9th or 10th century when it was settled. Homosexuality was considered an act of depravity. It goes without saying that Feuillades' films were considered shocking to the mainstream while embraced by a segment of its restless marginalized youth.

In contrast to the visceral rawness of the opening, a later homosexual encounter is treated with immense poignancy. This time the boy is with a war veteran who has lost a leg. It is the veteran who translates Steinn Karlsson's name into English as “Moonstone.” A brief poem, “Billy,” tells us all we need to know. Billy was the foreigner's deceased lover. He fantacizes that Steinn Karlsson is Billy as they embrace. In time, the boy will stop charging the foreigner for his services.

A horrifying dream suggests a separation between the boy's homosexual encounters for money in order to survive and those encounters satisfying a mutual need for intimate contact.

Nineteen Eighteen is the year the “Spanish” flu appears in Iceland. The pandemic scenes are notable for Sjon's masterful prose. When the cinema's pianist dies an eerie silence extinguishes meaning from the flickering images on the screen. The mechanical sound of the projector becomes an insistent reminder of the futility of escapism. When the lights go on, the sickly audience is forced to confront reality. All of this amplifies the silence that pervades the city – silence interrupted by the hammering of coffin construction. When Dr. Árnason argues the theater has spread the plague, he throws in accusations of immoral titillation and depravity. The reader cannot avoid a comparison with attitudes prevalent during the Aids epidemic.

Sjon is all too aware of how the “Spanish” flu seemed to target the young and healthy. “[the old women] have given room to so many ailments in their day that the scourge now making a meal of their descendants can find no morsel worth having on their worn-out old bones.” (p.50) A new sequence of nightmares unfolds when the boy succumbs to the pandemic. He recovers, however, and is rewarded with a brief interval of bliss. He is commandeered into helping the doctor move sick patients. The driver of their medical vehicle is Sóla G.

Sjón calls this book Moonstone; the Boy Who Never Was. However, his choice of 1918, a year in which so much happens, provides a canvas of reality that cannot be ignored. It was the year in which the last major eruption of Mt. Katla took place, an event the townspeople view with curious detachment. It was the year Iceland became an independent nation. At the same time, these events are blurred by the lens of history. Despite the conceit of the title, Sjón has created a character who feels all too real. At the same time, he permits his character the grace of metamorphosis.

This book was really outside my comfort zone. It was deservedly acclaimed by the literary establishment. The writing is powerful. However, I cannot say I would want to revisit this author. I read it because another of his works is this month's book club selection, and I wanted to broaden my understanding of him.

NOTES:
The actress known as Musidora played Irma Vep (an anagram of Vampire) and was immensely popular in the 1920's. This article provided background on both the film series and the actress. https://www.messynessychic.com/2022/1....

The Pool Group was a real group. Further information about them can be found on Wikipedia.