La hermana del desván

by Gøhril Gabrielsen

En las desoladas llanuras del norte de Noruega dos hermanas comparten una casa aisladas del mundo, más allá de las costumbres y convenciones sociales. En ese entorno asfixiante se incuba un odio larvado, solo proporcional a la necesidad que tienen la una de la otra. La irrupción en escena de un hombre, zafio y brutal, agudizará el conflicto entre ambas hasta llegar a un sorprendente desenlace.

"La hermana del desván" es una cruda descripción de la lucha por el poder y la dependencia mutua entre dos hermanas, así como una fascinante exploración sobre el proceso de creación que no dejará indiferente a nadie.

Genres: Fiction, Novella, Contemporary, Mental Health, Literary Fiction, 21st Century, Translated Fiction

160 pages, Kindle Edition

First published January 1, 2008

About the author

Gøhril Jeanne Gabrielsen (born 14 January 1961) is a Norwegian writer. She grew up in Finnmark, but now lives in Oslo. Gabrielsen's debut novel Unevnelige hendelser (Unspeakable Events) came out in 2006 and was well received by critics, winning Aschehoug’s First Book Award. She has published several other novels, including Svimlende muligheter, ingen frykt (The Looking-Glass Sisters) and Skadedyr (Vermin). The Looking-Glass Sisters has been released in English translation by Peirene Press.

(from Wikipedia)

Reviews

[Rebecca · Rating 4 out of 5]

Since discovering Peirene Press, a publisher of novellas in English translation, I’ve been keen to try more of their little gems. This is the second of four novels from Gabrielsen, a Norwegian author who lives in the far north of the country in a region called Finnmark. It’s an isolated place she uses to good effect in this novel about two sisters whose lives change – and not for the better – when one of them gets married.

I reign as queen in my room, in spite of the dust and the dirt. I have the silence, my pen and books, and, not least, I own the hours when Ragna is away.

Our unnamed narrator is paralyzed from the waist down and keeps to her bed in a home she shares with her older sister, Ragna. Their parents had her late in life and died early, so Ragna has looked after her since they were 19 and 24. They are now in middle age, so for years have rubbed along reasonably well, although there have been small acts of cruelty on either side – for instance, as a child the narrator planted chewing gum in Ragna’s bed so she’d have her luxurious hair cut off, and Ragna stays in the bathroom so long one morning that the narrator, making her tortuous way downstairs on crutches, has an accident in the hallway.

A short prologue tells us things have gotten worse: Ragna and her husband of less than one year, Johan, now keep the sister locked up in the attic. In the novella’s core section the narrator returns to the previous year, when Ragna and Johan were courting, to track the decline of this strange “little family with pus and pain in our cuts and scratches.” It all starts with her finding a letter Ragna wrote to a nursing home about committing her sister – and replacing it with a sheet of blank paper.

Our discontented narrator has a compulsion to remind everyone of her inconvenient existence: “I’m here. And I’m bloody hungry!” Whenever Ragna and Johan have friends visit, she is sure to make a scene. Her other acts of resistance are largely passive, though: writing snarky messages in the blank pages of encyclopedia volumes, listening on disapprovingly as Ragna and Johan have sex on the other side of the wall, and cursing Johan by burning his hair. Ragna follows suit by pettishly withholding library books and hot meals.

What we have here is essentially a psychological thriller with a claustrophobic domestic setting. Because we see everything from the narrator’s perspective, we share her sense of outrage at how Johan has upset her comfortable life and “sabotaged our sisterly pact.” At the same time, Gabrielsen implants tiny, clever clues that this is an unreliable narrator:

Can it be that I, the helpless one, have bred the anger in her by making myself more pathetic than I am? And can it be that I, in my struggle to gain the inviolable position of victim, have forged and fashioned Ragna the violator?

I can once more carry on my most precious occupation: lie on the pillows and twist the world exactly as I like.

Ultimately we have to wonder whether the person who has been telling us this whole story might be mentally compromised. How much of her mistreatment and present condition is she imagining? The way Gabrielsen counterbalances inherent trust in a narrator with skepticism as the story proceeds is remarkable. “I am reduced to an observing eye,” the protagonist tells us – and as readers we both see out of that eye and seek an objective outside view. It’s a gently thrilling book I’d recommend to you in the run-up to Halloween.

Note: Peirene issues books in trios: this is part of the “Chance Encounter series: Meeting the Other,” along with Aki Ollikainen’s White Hunger and Raymond Jean’s Reader for Hire.

With thanks to Peirene Press for the free copy.

(Originally published with images at my blog, Bookish Beck.)

[La Repisa de Elena · Rating 4 out of 5]

Una lectura implacable y desgarradora." La hermana del desván" posee un poderío amargo, con pasajes extraordinarios que exploran lo esencial y la determinación de sobrevivir. Sin embargo, también se vuelve claustrofóbica y exagerada, y las hermanas están tan deshumanizadas que resulta difícil sentir compasión por alguna de ellas.

La autora imprime una fuerza y amargura tan intensas que impregnan cada página con sentimientos repugnantes. Destaca su habilidad para transmitir la desesperación y la lucha por la supervivencia de una manera poderosa y cruda. Los pasajes que describen las condiciones inhumanas en las que viven, así como sus intentos desesperados por encontrar un rayo de esperanza, son extraordinarios. Estos momentos de la novela capturan la esencia de la lucha por la vida en su forma más primordial.

"La sensación de estar atrapada en un mundo oscuro y sin salida" es una obra maestra que desafía al lector a sumergirse en la oscuridad y encontrar la luz en medio del caos. Una lectura que te hará sentir vivo y te recordará la importancia de luchar por la esperanza, incluso cuando todo parece perdido.

"-:Qué es la nada?
Es el vacío que queda.Es como una
desesperación que destruye este
mundo. "

[Shawn Mooney (Shawn Breathes Books)]

2020 Bail Review: I tried this again at the end of 2020, after bailing on page 76 three years ago. I got to page 60 this time and reached the same conclusion: a book about awful people doing awful things to each other simply does not hold my interest.



2017 Bail Review: Yeah, no...this tale of two of the most perfectly detestable women in literature would likely have ended up being the last book I read in 2017. I will not completely taint the year that way. I like dark stories, and I don’t mind unlikeable characters—but these sisters are so horrid I can’t bring myself to read another page. Reading a book about Trump would be more uplifting. Bailed around half way through.

[Tripfiction · Rating 4 out of 5]

Novella set in NORWAY

This review first appeared on our blog: http://www.tripfiction.com/novella-se...

If you put the Norwegian title of The Looking Glass Sisters (Svimlende muligheter, ingen frykt) into Google translate it comes out as Dizzying Possibilities, No Fear, which is sufficiently cryptic to explain why the publisher decided to change it in the English version. Literary translation is a tricky business and sometimes even the professionals have to admit defeat, recognizing that there are occasions when rather than simply replacing one word with the equivalent in another language, they have to create their own expressions to reflect the truth of what the author is saying.

Having said that, it struck me that the Dizzying Possibilities of the original title has similarities to the title of a much more familiar English novel, Wuthering Heights, and the similarities do not end there. For this is a novel grounded in a specific location. Just as you can’t imagine Cathy living anywhere else than the lonely Yorkshire moors, it’s impossible to imagine the two middle-aged sisters of this novel living anywhere except in the expanses of northern Norway – one of the most isolated, sparsely populated areas of modern-day Europe. Even if most of the action, such as it is, takes place indoors the elemental world outside makes itself felt in the lives of the characters.

For most British and American readers there will be a lot in this book that is unfamiliar – even exotic. Most of us live in urban communities and unlike the two sisters of the book title haven’t experienced what it’s like to live apart from the rest of humanity, with only a fragile man-made shell between us and the forces of nature. But there’s lots that’s familiar too for the majority of us know at first-hand all about the complicated balance of dependence and independence, and the intense mix of emotions, which characterize relationships with our nearest and dearest. This novel combines the two elements – isolation and complicated familial relationships – and the result for the characters, as you would expect, is catastrophic. Indeed, The Looking Glass Sisters has the unsettling quality of one of the more disturbing fairy stories, Hansel and Gretel say, or Babes in the Woods.

Mind you, this novel is not without an element of dark humour. The way the sisters needle each other and the petty, intimate acts of attrition and retribution are behaviours that most siblings, and even some husbands and wives, will recognize. And speaking of husbands and wives, the catalyst that brings down the whole fragile familial edifice is, of course, a man. He offers one of the sisters another role in life, and their whole world shifts.

This is a very Nordic novel in its creation of a world where indifferent physical and emotional forces – whether it’s the cold or the stars, sex or dreams, love or hate – drive people to their fates. The book has been beautifully translated by John Irons but the strange alien quality remains.

If you’re on holiday and sick of hot, crowded, Mediterranean beaches and Dan Brown novels you may find this book calls to you, providing you with a blast of cold clear air and the sound of icy streams. If, on the other hand, you’re on your way to one of the Nordic countries to hike or ski in the wilderness, The Looking Glass Sisters will provide you with a way of interpreting what you will see and experience there. However, once you’ve read it I doubt you will want to linger too long near any deserted farmhouses.

[Antonomasia · Rating 3 out of 5]

Another essay-sized review. I've been slogging at this thing on and off for a couple of months, which was ridiculous and wearing; time to draw a line under it and post.

If this book had been set a century earlier, I might have rated it more highly. As it is, I'm going to do something that I think there is way too much of on Goodreads already (albeit not for this particular book): concentrate on the issue of minority representation. It is useful to look from the other side sometimes, to keep things fresh for oneself, even if it may be dull for friends and followers. As art, this novella is neither brilliant nor dreadful, it is just another reasonable piece of translated literary fiction from Peirene Press. (Who have been praised in the blogosphere a great deal for a few years, and after the run of mediocre texts in 2015 – not seen as such by many others - I am getting the urge to say not quite that the Emperor is naked, but perhaps that he is in longjohns.)

The Looking-Glass Sisters is on one level, a pretty decent study of people trapped together in a lifetime of cabin fever and mutual resentment, and what happens when a third other arrives to cause further tension and the destabilisation of the situation. But as one of the few novels I've encountered (without deliberately looking) featuring a main character who's a non-elderly disabled adult, it was in some ways disappointing. The only examples I'd praise for roundedness are Lesley in Ben Aaronovitch's [Moon Over Soho] and [Whispers Underground], and another policewoman, the post-injury Hanne Wilhelmsen in Anne Holt's 1222, and a cameo in Death in Oslo. Pauline in Jen Ashworth's [The Friday Gospels] was mostly pretty good, until near the end when a 'miracle cure' trope arrived on the scene, yet - and I met several in my old work - there are many more people suffering problems similar to hers, with a variety of causes, for whom unfortunately very little can be done. (I steer clear of Scarlett Thomas' Going Out because my impression is that something similar happens to the character with physical health problems.) Such transformations do happen for some lucky people, but because the number of disabled & chronically ill characters in contemporary fiction is so low, these isolated examples end up feeling and looking as if they stand for many more, and give an incorrect picture to readers who have never met a significant number of people with disabilities, and who do not have them themselves, or among friends and family. There probably isn't a huge crossover between readers of literary fiction (even less so the Peirene) and those taking in messages from right-wing tabloids which imply most disabled people are fakes or scroungers – but it doesn't exactly help. One blog post linked in another GR review for this book slates The Looking-Glass Sisters for showing the disabled narrator to have a difficult personality. But it would be no better – in fact it might be worse – to have disabled characters continually shown as kind and angelic, implicitly creating expectations among some readers that anyone who wasn't as saintly and patient as Beth from Little Women - or like this quote - was an ingrate who deserved all they got. That fails to acknowledge that the experience of disability /illness in itself can be incredibly frustrating. Those expectations of patience tally with the sarcastic joke one can make to another after some improvement, 'oh, I'd better run a marathon now', for there is that odd social pressure there that one isn't trying hard enough otherwise, regardless of the fact that a marathon is completely impossible for people with some medical conditions, and that some, even if they got well, aren't suited because they are genetically built as strength/short-distance rather than endurance types. If there were a greater variety of characters shown, stuff like Pauline's miracle cure, or this narrator's paranoia and anger, would be fine, just part of the cheesy tapestry of life - like it doesn't seem dreadful now to have a gay villain, because fiction and TV have acknowledged that demographic doesn't equal stereotype or personality. Characters with foibles that explicitly or implicitly can be read as mental health issues are overwhelmingly common in literary fiction – it's harder to find an acclaimed modern novel without one than not - but long term physical health problems other than an elderly parent with dementia, or a usually fatal cancer are rare.

Who's supposed to do all this bloody representing anyway? If it's only ever writers who are basically healthy, how good will it be? And readers and writers with physical health problems should be free to use fiction as escapism, as a way of being more than their disability or illness. ( I confess I haven't relished the prospect of reading Pilcrow and Cedilla - supposed to be the great contemporary novels of disability, because together they amount to over 1200pp. Also that I've never read Hilary Mantel, but she is one author – alongside a few minor crime writers – I'm aware of as having significant health issues, and of writing novels which aren't marked out as featuring people with similar.) It would be a good thing for critics and at last some readers if these authors incorporated [more] characters with problems they themselves understood from the inside – and perhaps some writers just need that push to figure that actually, novels can be about people like themselves, same as those examples of black and Asian schoolkids who hadn't realised books could be about them, not only about white children. But authors should not be expected to act as a public service by writing about already burdensome things they don't want to think about anything more than they really have to. Writing about how things could be worse could, for some, be stressful, even nightmarish. There is a huge experiential divide between disabled people who are able to work (especially those holding down long-term secure professional jobs with reasonable pensions and sick pay) and those with no private funds who can't work, or who could work intermittently and/or under conditions hardly any employers provide. (I understand that Scandinavian benefits systems are pretty good at fitting around limited and intermittent work, whereas in contemporary Britain the person would often be stuck in an administrative hell.) One's experience is so different from the other that to 'represent', say, a professional worker with a well-recognised and stable disability and a supportive, financially comfortable family says very little about the lives of those who only get media/public attention when interviewed about government cuts, or in stories of people who killed themselves after the withdrawal of benefits. (But if written about really well – and the key would have to be superb writing – the latter could surely be as valid as literature as stories of bureacracy and privation in Kafka or Hamsun or any other starving-artist tale. There should be stories which are excellent as art, not merely extended blog posts or newspaper articles. The people these things are happening to are practically never in a situation that would make it possible to write an extended, high quality work, never mind find the connections to get it published. Producing art, for most people, needs a certain amount of stability and safety.) Memoir, and I say this although some of my favourite writing about illness comes from works like Christopher Hitchens' Mortality and Christine Brooke-Rose's Life, End of, admirably defiant individuals who probably wouldn't have approved of the following list of tropes either. Memoir, meanwhile, demands a certain focus and trajectory: it should be hopeful, or they should be dead - it isn't supposed to end at a point of uncertainty unless the writer is 'ready for anything' (as with Beth or marathon running, they are expected to be exemplary and to be prepared to tolerate what it would be reasonable to find intolerable); there should be an authoritative diagnosis to rubberstamp them as a reliable narrator; it can't be too complicated by bringing in other life problems – like a difficult family – unless, perhaps those are to be overcome with pluck or zen philosophy. It doesn't reflect the complicated, multi-issue lives that really exist behind social security acronyms.

And the other issue is that with disabilities and chronic illness being such incredibly varied problems, the well-meaning middlebrow diversity-minded reader (I'm thinking of those targeted by sites like Bookriot and Buzzfeed) who goes in search of 'disability novels' might start making all sorts of assumptions about the experiences of people they meet on the basis of characters from fiction. I think a person who just reads a bunch of old classics or mysteries, but who is open-minded to the idiosyncratic experiences and needs of anyone they met, is better than one who dutifully goes for all the 'right' novels and thereby thinks themselves well-informed about a stranger's experience of a different country, or whatever other mode of existence, because they assumed they were like x and y fictional characters or memoirists and pigeonholes people via ideology. That novel about an upper-middle-class family who live between an African country and New York might not have a lot to say about the life of a cleaner or factory worker who happens to have come from the same country. And I'm reminded of a few patronising twenty- and thirtysomething male feminists I met when I was younger who automatically assumed I had certain opinions and tastes because of being female, and who were usually wrong.

The relationship between full-time carer and disabled or elderly adult, though, has so much complexity that it's odd it doesn't appear in psychologically=focused litfic more often. The Looking-Glass Sisters makes good use of extreme expressions of power and mutual resentment within it, but is also rather an artificial example, a situation that would have made complete sense set pre-welfare state (even more so before many people had cars). In Western countries, few in a similar situation are so isolated from support services as are these two sisters, and not many anywhere have so little in the way of attention from other relatives, neighbours etc – that kind of isolation seems more Western. Given what I know of Scandinavian welfare states and the communitarian ethos of the region, this isolated abusive situation seems less likely there than almost anywhere. (Plans for increased indigenous land rights are discussed as a threat to Ragna's income from berry-picking: that points most probably to the early 2000s and the run-up to the controversial 2005 Finnmark Act, or perhaps to slightly earlier plans to improve Sami rights, but again those were in the 1990s, not long ago.)

Friends will know I have little love for didactic, issue-based fiction (but if it were superbly written, and didn't bash out its issues with a sledgehammer, that might be a different story). But because of that paucity of representation, the way a lot of literary fiction readers may be out of touch with these problems, and the dire and depressing situation of these two characters, what this book really could have done with showing was how things could be a lot easier with support services that are actually available in places like Norway (albeit being cut here, and barely provided in some coutries) – and how there the narrator's fears about being sent to a home were probably unfounded. Independent living in the community for disabled people grew in the UK as an unusual beneficial sides effect of Tory cuts in the 1980s; not sure of how things would have worked in Norway at the time the book is set, I searched for info. This was the only useful page I found in English – it sounds like these were available although perhaps not the near universal / default option as in the UK at the time.

I started writing a different review of The Looking Glass Sisters about half way through the book, from the perspective of a social services sector worker visiting the household.

Draft case notes:
PRIORITY. Physically disabled F adult, N + F carer, R (both age 50s, sisters). Also carer's new husband, J (similar age) recently moved in. N uses crutches, legs paralysed since childhood. Household in urgent need of full assessment incl. for occupational therapy - equipment & adaptations - support worker & poss respite. But discuss with supervisor poss involvement of police as abuse has occured. N may need/want to move out soon.

Why has household not been referred to social work before? Situation has deteriorated appallingly. Have they been in contact with other services? Have they been offered & refused help? Ask around? Not v communicative but N was keen reader of library books until last few months - R used to borrow books for her.

N does not appear to be claiming all she is entitled to (answers unclear, left some leaflets to look at), still, financial situation appears adequate though basic - R is agricultural worker - but if N is to move out this will be ideal time to do new assessment. Appears that N does not have own bank account - one of a number of things that could have contributed to psychological enmeshment in h/h [can I say this?] - support + visit needed to help her open this separately from sister.

N terrified of being moved to nursing home and losing independence - but does not require nursing home level of care, needs further info about independent supported living options (e.g. sheltered housing, own ground floor flat with paid carers visiting daily - taken to look at places to reassure her? N is strong willed individual who likes own space, clearly better suited to independent living, hope this can be arranged. But need to check local policies on disability housing options as am new to region*.)
Household appears not to have internet or even TV leading to lack of awareness of options and negligible contact with others, esp for N, + absence of carer support /network for R. (R. seems to have had no idea how normal her feelings of frustration are in the situation & has ended up expressing them in extreme ways.) N very attached to house but not keen on the outdoors - important option to discuss further is move to a town where suitable accommodation, services & company more plentiful. Possibly a job or voluntary work? Given situation in household N may need to be moved to temp accom nearby soon and then have time to consider/ adjust to idea of move elsewhere.

Aggressive 'cabin fever' situation has developed over c. 2 decades - occasional violence appears to have occurred for a long time on both sides (N hitting people and breaking things with crutch, R hitting with hands) + verbal abuse, both very frustrated by their restricted lives & feeling like martyrs - outside support such as paid carers, respite, and counselling could have stopped things deteriorating. Came to a head when sister met J - who has also reportedly been verbally abusive to N - & since he moved in N has been marooned upstairs and deprived of library books. (How much of this is use of force by R & how much is N's choice? N has strong personality & opinions but is still affected by the household dynamic & obv disempowered.) No need for situations like this these days** in this country - this is Victorian, could have ended up a scandal in the press. Need to involve supervisors & other agencies to make sure this is handled best & quickly as poss.


* My comments are all based on pre-recession provision in Britain. Norway, one of the richest countries in the world, can afford better than that. However, because of their wealth, I'm not sure they had the same move to care in the community we had in the 80s (which, although it was disorientating for older people who'd been institutionalised for decades, was excellent for younger people and by and large good for disability rights where adequate support services were available) - it's possible Norway might put someone like the narrator in a home, although based on experience here, they can have a more normal life than that - which is clearly what the narrator wants - and good quality visiting services, or a sheltered housing flat, with alarm in case of falls, would still be cheaper to provide than a home place.
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However, due to the ending, this wasn't very useful as a conceptual review of the story as a whole. The Looking Glass Sisters seems to be presented to readers as a story about interdependent destructive personalities. Although it is also about the way that some disabilities can trap people in situations they would never have had to put up with if they could be physically and/or financially independent. That some personalities are worse suited to dependence than others: these are the people who get labelled 'difficult', and who may spiral further into a feedback loop of resentment and dysfunction from dealing with carers and services who just don't get them - whilst without these care needs, in lives where they weren't so obliged to fit around others, they might have been admired as gutsy individualists or eccentric strong personalities, and they would have been free to be picky about who got so close to them. It's also about the mutually abusive relationship, something that research and some relevant workers' experience shows to be quite common in dysfunctional households, yet which casual sociopolitical commentary has a hard time acknowledging; this is a textbook example of the physically weaker party ending up worse off, which although it presents an emergency, also doesn't mean the psychologial dynamics on both sides are irrelevant. Somehow though, I'm still not entirely sure what this book, as it is, is for.

---
Whilst this has taken a silly amount of time to finish, and didn't get done in my Christmas catch-up on old reviews, it does at least tie in with a post about a more recent read, unfortunately of similar length. Both are, in part about: “I think the "reading-as-actvism" online community neglects this issue in favour of others that are more convenient, but I also dislike its tendency to tell people what to read, say and think, have doubts that the issue would be handled well if they took it up in a big way, and I'm not sure myself what the best approach would be.”

[Sylvia · Rating 4 out of 5]

Excelente libro.

[Melissa · Rating 4 out of 5]

I received an ARC of this book from the publisher.

This is an emotionally intense and sinister book that will leave you thinking about relationships with close family members long after you finish the last page. The focus of the book is on the codependence of two sisters who are each other’s only remaining relatives after their parents die. When the book opens they are middle-aged and have been living together in isolation on the outskirts of rural Norway for almost 30 years.

The first sister, the one who is the unnamed narrator of the story, has been physically handicapped since she was a little girl. She contracted a high fever which caused her to be in the hospital for several weeks and the illness left her paralyzed from the waist down. She must rely on her parents for all of her needs and when her parents die the only other person she has left in her life is her older sister, Ragna. The sisters live in a remote house that no one ever visits and the only way to reach the local village for supplies is by snow sled.

But one day the routine of the sisters’ lives changes when a man named Johan moves into the area and starts to court Ragna. We get the sense that Ragna has been resentfully taking care of her sister for years and has never really developed any life of her own because of the constant needs of her invalid sister. Ragna seems bitter and at times she is emotionally and physically cruel to her disabled sister. There is one scene in the book that is particularly painful to read; the handicapped sister has to use the bathroom and drags herself out of bed with her crutches and just before she reaches the bathroom, Ragna runs in and locks the door. Ragna refuses to come out of the bathroom and the crippled and helpless sister is forced to relieve herself in her pants. Her dignity is further eroded when she then must be cleaned up and carried back to bed by Ragna.

When Johan comes along and decides to marry Ragna, it seems that Ragna could not be happier now that she has the opportunity to rid herself of the burden of her sister. At times I felt sorry for both sisters. On the one hand, the handicapped sister cannot help her situation and she has no choice but to be constantly asking her sister for everything she needs. On the other hand, Ragna must constantly be at her sister’s beck and call and Ragna feels that her sister is never grateful for what Ragna does for her. We also get the feeling throughout the narrative that the disabled sister has a very narrow view of the world and doesn’t understand what is going on outside her room or how her constant demands affect her sister. At times she appears paranoid and melodramatic.

This novella brings up some interesting thoughts about family members and our obligations to them. If we are the only ones left to take care of a loved one are we obligated to do so to the detriment of our own lives? But if we can’t rely on our family, then who else is there to depend on in times of need? In the end, Ragna and Johan make a selfish decision in favor of making peace and quiet for themselves.

The novellas published by Peirene are meant to be read quickly, in a matter of a few hours. But I found this book so dark and intense that I could only read it a few pages at a time over the course of several days. The final book in the Chance Encounter series is a stunner that is the perfect way to finish out this set of novellas.

For more of my reviews visit: www.thebookbindersdaughter.com

[Kirsty · Rating 4 out of 5]

The first offering in English by acclaimed Norwegian author Gohril Gabrielsen has been published by the marvellous Peirene Press, making it their eighteenth title, and the final instalment in 2015’s Chance Encounter series. For those who do not know, Peirene focus upon translating European novella-length works, which would otherwise probably completely pass us by in the United Kingdom.

Translated by John Irons, The Looking-Glass Sisters – first published in Norway in 2008 – is a stunning and intense portrayal of the relationship between two sisters. Bergens Tidende, Norway’s fifth largest newspaper, believes that The Looking-Glass Sisters is ‘innovative and sensuous’, and Meike Ziervogel, the founder of Peirene, calls it ‘a story about loneliness – both geographical and psychological’. Here, Gabrielsen presents to us ‘a tragic love story about two sisters who cannot live with or without each other’.

Ragna is the elder sister, and has been tasked with caring for her partially paralysed, and thus totally dependent, sister since the deaths of their parents. Our narrator, who remains unnamed, says, ‘I’m dependent on her help and goodwill… But she ignores my cries, does not come, punishes me severely. And repeatedly… I have to realise that we’ve come to a watershed in our relationship as sisters. After our last agonising quarrel, it looks as if she’s forgotten me. I’ve been stowed away like an object among all the other objects up here – discarded and outside time’.

The prose style which Gabrielsen has made use of is gripping from the very start. The story opens in the following way: ‘My sister and her husband are outside, digging a deep hole next to the dwarf birch by my attic window… Soon I am dozing dreamlessly, just as hidden as the thing down there in the dark earth’. She uses the simple yet effective technique of going back in time in order to build the contextual information, and to give us further insights into the tumultuous and often cruel relationship between the sisters. The entire novella is deftly shaped, and Gabrielsen’s care and attention to detail mean that one is immediately submerged within the dark, stifling world of our narrator. The very notion of everyday life, and those tasks which we perhaps take for granted, are examined, as are the ways in and means with which our narrator brings herself to cope.

The reader is soon called upon to be a participant within the story, rather than merely an overseer: ‘Imagine an attic. Not just any attic, but one in a remote spot in a northern, godforsaken part of the world… You go up there only reluctantly, and preferably not alone – it’s got something to do with the creaking of the staircase… It’s not easy to make it to the room at the top. And it’s even more difficult to come down’. The power of the first person perspective grows: ‘You place your ear to the door. After a moment, you sense some sound of life, not breathing and movement, but a vibration of existence, an unrest that only life can produce… Deep inside, among the dancing white spots, you can make out the contours of a body resting on a bed. And this body, this only just perceptible unrest – it is me’.

The Looking-Glass Sisters contains such interesting and original aspects of personality, and builds a cast of characters who feel – often horribly – realistic, particularly in their cruelties. Ragna, for example, ‘is a person you instinctively talk loudly to, long and hard, so as to be heard through the thick layer of resistance’. Gabrielsen’s prose, and those elements which she depicts, are startling in places: ‘Her little heart shrivelled, like the animal hearts in the larder that her sister cooks with cream’.

Gabrielsen shrewdly demonstrates that one can be with somebody every day, and not really know them at all. In The Looking-Glass Sisters, she masterfully builds intensity, and weaves in elements of sensuality and control. She shows the hidden strength of our narrator, and sculpts the overriding feeling that people are not always as they may appear. The fact that the narrator herself is never given a name gives a whole new depth to proceedings; despite her lack of identification in this manner, she is still the most human depiction in the entire novella. The stark darkness within the plot, too, unfolds marvellously against the framework of the northern Norway setting.

[Ina Groovie · Rating 4 out of 5]

Tengo la sensación de que este libro puede leerse con la mirada puesta en la historia misma y como una alegoría. Dos hermanas (una enferma, otra cuidadora) nos muestran el momento exacto en que la fragilidad de su coexistencia cae. Han estado acostumbradas a soportarse, pero Ragna (la hermana que cuida) se enamora y la casa ahora tiene tres habitantes. La protagonista molesta (y es molesta todo el tiempo, pero uno odia odiarla) y comienza a recrearse “Casa tomada” de Julio Cortázar. Todo se achica. Todo también se expande.

Una novela veloz, feroz, foránea en tantos sentidos. Aplausos a la traducción de Ana Flecha Marco, siempre impecable en lo noruego.

[Marina Sofia · Rating 4 out of 5]

Very emotionally draining, dark and bitter book. Works beautifully with the harsh Finnmark climate. Passages of great lyrical intensity and wonderfully done unreliable narration. Made me glad I don't have a sister...

[Claire · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is a tragedy about a woman who yearns for love but ends up in a painfully destructive conflict with her sister. It is also a story about loneliness – both geographical and psychological. Facing the prospect of a life without love, we fall back into isolating delusions at exactly the moment when we need to connect.<÷blockquote>

Mieke Ziervogel, Peirene Press

Two sisters have lived in the same house all their lives, their parents long gone and they can barely tolerate each other. They are bound together in one sense due to the practical disability of the younger sister, but also through the inherent sense of duty and responsibility of the first-born.

At times like these, in the dark, maybe with a candle lit, a sudden, intense feeling overcomes me that Ragna and I are one body, completely inseparable. We have gradually let go of parts of ourselves in favour of the other. Over the years, through conflicts and confrontations, we have shaped, kneaded and formed ourselves into a lopsided, distorted yet complete organism. Ragna has the body and I have the soul. She puts on the firewood, I do the thinking. She makes the tea, I read and write.

They manage with their hostile acceptance of each other until the new neighbour Johan begins to visit and competes for the attention of the able, caring, repressed Ragna, a potential disruptive threat to her invalid sister and to the way things in their household have been for a long time.

Days and weeks go by, I glide into a soothing rhythm of calm everydayness. It is an illusion, I know that, for beneath the dependable surface conspiracies smoulder, along with my sister’s hot-tempered desire for her own life.

Narrated from the perspective of the crippled sister in a stream of consciousness style, its intense, frustrating and laced with a sense of foreboding as the third character, Johan, arrives and either in her imagination or in reality – we are never quite sure – convinces the sister to make plans to change their circumstances.

Can it be that I, the sick one, have given rise to impatience in Ragna because of my exaggerated gestures and unreasonable demands? Can it be that I, the helpless one, have bred the anger in her by making myself more pathetic than I am? And can it be that I, in my struggle to gain the inviolable position of victim, have forged and fashioned Ragna the violator?

Claustrophobic, at times surreal, it fits perfectly with the Peirene Press Close Encounters theme, three books that explored different aspects of interpersonal relationships and the importance of the Other in our development as individuals and our understanding of ourselves.

[Nancy Freund · Rating 4 out of 5]

This was a weird book -- an unusual reading experience, that is. Repetitive and bleak with no likeable characters, but I was drawn to it and to whipping through it, page after page. It's quite a short novel, that reads with a singular focus like a short story normally would. In fact, it's very reminiscent of the 1892 short story "The Yellow Wallpaper" by Charlotte Gilman Perkins. In 'The Looking Glass Sisters' we have an even less reliable narrator, but the themes of abduction, isolation, female suppression of creativity (esp reading and writing) and voice are consistent in both. The pace and progress of the protagonists' instability is similar as well. Fans of 'Jane Eyre' will probably find some familiar territory here too. 'The Looking Glass Sisters' also hints at some of the Norwegian and Finnish political history brought out in 'Out Stealing Horses' which I loved, so that piqued my interest as well, even though it wasn't developed. It also reveals plenty about a remote Scandinavian landscape, like in 'Your Presence is Requested at Suvanto' -- another creepy nouveau gothic tale of crazy women who may or may not be incarcerated for their own good. Structurally, it's an unusual format, playing frequently on the concept of mirrors -- glass and ice and textual repetitions and reversals abound. It's terribly sad, and yet I never felt emotionally drained by the story itself. I suppose it invites a sort of voyeuristic joy as the quiet plot moves forward. I wasn't eager for more when I hit the final page, but I was indeed glad to have read it, and glad that Peirene has brought it to the English language from the original Norwegian.

[Kate Gardner · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is the story of two middle-aged sisters, Ragna and her younger sister, who narrates the book. The narrator suffered a childhood illness that has left her body severely weakened, so that she never leaves the house and is largely dependent on Ragna. They have lived together alone since the death of their parents and their relationship is bitter and twisted, but it works…until a man comes into Ragna’s life. Johan upsets the delicate balance, revealing alternative paths for the sisters.

You could hardly get a more unreliable narrator. Her incapacity sometimes traps her in her bedroom, so she has learned to entertain herself with her imagination. Her illness sometimes gets so bad that she sleeps for days, or stops eating. She is paranoid – or is she right to fear Ragna’s wrath?

The sisters do not treat each other well. They are in a horrible situation. They’re very poor, living essentially off the land (in autumn Ragna goes hunting and then sells the meat and fish). Ragna has all the weight of responsibility, and her sister doesn’t make it easy. They scream abuse at each other, kick and scratch, but ultimately Ragna is the only one with power.

- See my full review: http://www.noseinabook.co.uk/2015/12/...

[Jorge · Rating 5 out of 5]

Brutal. Ocurre con muy poca frecuencia que un libro, elegido casi por azar y que decido leer sin tener demasiadas referencias ni expectativas, acabe despertando en mí tanta fascinación. Es una historia un tanto oscura, que me ha recordado a Siempre hemos vivido en el castillo, tanto por el argumento (la relación entre dos hermanas que viven en una casa apartada del pueblo, en un ambiente bastante opresivo), como por los temas que explora. Me ha impactado bastante, creo que será uno de estos libros en los que continuaré pensando durante bastante tiempo. Muy buena historia, una escritura extraordinaria y una narradora (una de las hermanas) muy interesante y muy bien construida. Me ha parecido un librazo.

[Luis Sánchez · Rating 3 out of 5]

7/10

[Miguel Blanco Herreros · Rating 5 out of 5]

4,5*

Magnífica. Una novela de prosa acuchillante, que se te mete hasta el tuétano como si fuera el mismo frío de los paisajes noruegos en los que se ambienta. Una mezcla entre “¿Qué fue de Baby Jane?”, “Flores en el ático”, “La dulce envenenadora” y “¡Absalón, Absalón!” (sí, al parecer una mezcla así era posible) que se devora de una sentada y que tiene el adecuado equilibrio entre serenidad en la trama, misterio y giros inesperados, en especial al final. Todo ello protagonizado por dos hermanas tan imperfectas como grandes personajes, que juegan con nosotros y nuestros sentimientos a lo largo de toda la novela.

Lo compré tras la recomendación de Alina, mi librera de confianza, primero, y luego el empuje del propio Francisco Llorca, el editor de la novela, en la Feria del Libro de Madrid, así que era una obra que venía con buenos padrinos, y se entiende.

Más que recomendable, y creo que es, además, un gran libro para los que tengan un bloqueo lector.

[Marnie · Rating 2 out of 5]

??

[Esther · Rating 4 out of 5]

Aunque me hubiera gustado otro final, me ha encantado el tono, el argumento, la narrativa, el lenguaje, los giros.

[Aroa (eldesvandealejandria) · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Este encierro: pienso en él como en un corte hasta el nervio de nuestra relación de hermanas, un tajo aún más profundo hacia el odio. Pronto, todo lo que de alguna manera nos ha unido estará totalmente desgarrado."

"Hemos llegado a un abismo en nuestra relación de hermanas. Tras nuestra última y desgarradora discusión, ella finge haberse olvidado de mí. Estoy almacenada aqui arriba como un trasto más; desechada y estancada en el tiempo."

"¿Qué tengo yo que perder? Nada más que mi ruinosa existencia, pero incluso eso me resulta demasiado querido, demasiado bueno para abandonarlo."

La hermana del desván es de esas novelas que oprimen, que incomodan, que angustian, pero que a su vez no puedes parar de leer porque necesitas saber qué pasa.

En sus paginas nos encontramos con la historia de estas 2 hermanas que viven en un casa aisladas en el interior de Noruega. Ragna es la mayor, la cuidadora de su hermana. Sin vida propia por tener que estar 24/7 con ella ya que su hermana sufre de una enfermedad que no la permite practicamente andar ni valerse por si misma quitando lo esencial.

Nos adentramos en una relación completamente tóxica, donde nada más sabemos una parte de la historia, la contada por la hermana enferma, partiendo de esa base en la que no sabes si todo lo que se cuenta es verdad o fruto de la paranoia de estar enferma y encerrada la historia te deja ver unos matices de egoísmo y maldad, por parte de las dos hermanas que son brutales.

Todo se torna peor cuando entra en escena Johan el novio de Ragna, es ahí cuando vemos la peor parte de la enferma ya que se piensa que confabulan en contra de ella constantemente.

Un libro corto pero tan bien narrado que te hace aflorar unos sentimientos tremendos hacia las hermanas

[Julián Floria Cantero · Rating 5 out of 5]

«Lo sé, mi destino está escrito, me convertiré en pasto para los ratones, las ratas, los pájaros y los carroñeros. Pronto seré abono de las bayas silvestres, y ¡menudas bayas! Moras árticas que cualquier recolector furtivo alemán se llevará a la boca entusiasmado. Los mosquitos bailarán. El jugo, las perlitas de humedad que harán que aquel alemán se estremezca y arrugue la nariz no serán otra cosa que las moléculas de mis ácidos fluidos vitales que pronto correrán por su dulce sangre.»

[Vann · Rating 3 out of 5]

me gustó la narración de esta historia, esa dependencia obsesiva hacia la hermana, con una voz que a ratos es perturbadora e incomoda me pareció interesante.

si bien en un momento se me volvió un poco monótona, el final del libro es una joya (hay que decirlo)

[Álvaro Nieto-Taladriz · Rating 4 out of 5]

Me ha gustado mucho por cómo muestra, sin filtros, la relación entre unas hermanas marcadas por el dolor y la rabia. Aun así, logra que te pongas en su piel y sientas con ellas. Es dura, pero muy humana.

[Hà Linh · Rating 4 out of 5]

khi không thể social distancing với gia đình và cái kết :-s

[Aylin · Rating 3 out of 5]

meh

[Louise · Rating 3 out of 5]

Three unsavory characters make up this disturbing narrative of family dysfunction.

[Joan]

❤️💔

[Pilar Rodríguez Cunill · Rating 2 out of 5]

En este caso he de de decir que no me ha gustado, es cierto que es muy original pero no para mí.

[Maite Hernandez Lopez · Rating 4 out of 5]

Es cierto que tengo debilidad por la novela nórdica, pero pocos como ell@s saben describir el frío, la oscuridad. Novela que te hace pensar, capitulo final poético 😍

[Julia · Rating 1 out of 5]

necesito leer algo que me guste por favor

[Yin Ling · Rating 2 out of 5]

Random pick up from the bookstore. Want to return it but I can’t coz I finish it 😭