Vane vítr z hor / Není jiné cesty

Bjørndal-folket #2-3

by Trygve Gulbranssen, Oldřich Liška (Translator)

Navazuje na 1.část trilogie Věčně zpívají lesy.

Druhý a třetí díl románové trilogie - ságy norského selského rodu - líčí postupně svatbu mladého příslušníka rodu s městsky vychovanou dívkou, narození dětí, jež utužují vztah mezi mladým párem, a posléze krizi mezi oběma mladými, když děti umírají a mladá žena v podvědomém obdivu k rozhodnému a energickému starému hospodáři a v neschopnosti překonat svou městskou pýchu přivádí manžela k sebevražednému úmyslu,když šplhá na nebezpečnou Umrlčí horu, zřítí se a jen stěží vyvázne životem...

Genres: Classics

324 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 1970

About the author

Trygve Gulbranssen (1894-1962) er i dag mest kjent som mannen bak romanverket «Og bakom synger skogene», «Det blåser fra Dauingfjell» og «Ingen vei går utenom»; senere kalt «Bjørndaltrilogien» Han oppnådde med fortellingene sine å nå ut til mennesker over store deler av verden; uavhengig av alder, nasjonalitet og stand.

Reviews

[Triinu · Rating 4 out of 5]

Teate, klassikalisel kirjandusel on omad võlud.

Mõtlen küll, et nah, igal ajal on kirjutada osatud, väga meeldivaid raamatuid on palju ja vanus ei anna juurde - aga on oma võlu neil vanadel, kollasel kehval paberil ja hajuma hakkava trükiga raamatutel, milles nii palju tänapäeva mõtteviisiga sobimatut ja ometi ka nii palju aegumatut.
Me olime inimesed ka ammustel aegadel, just nagu me oleme inimesed praegu.
Ehk - tasub vanu lemmikuid üle lugeda, tasub.
Lendavad käes.

Trygve Gulbranssen on head tööd teinud.
Mis on hea?
Looduskirjeldused. Norra kevad lehtib ja õitseb just siinsamas, ma tunnen mahedat tuult, mis läbi salude põski paitama jõuab. Näen pimedust, mis haarab mõtted ja keha ning ometigi paistab viimaks öös tulekumas aken. Hakkan isegi peaaegu lõdisema, kui torm mägede vahel ähvardavalt ulub ja piitsutb rändaja turja ja nägu teravate jäänõeltega.
Tegelased.
Natuke meenub "Gösta Berlingi saaga". Mitte et tegelased oleks sedamoodi sarnased, nagu oleksid sealt võetud. Ei, nad on hoopis teistsugused - ent täis sedasama põhjamaist kargust ja samas leeki, kangust, julgust ja visadust, jõudu ja valu, valgust ja pimedust. Neil on nii palju elu sees, et tunduvad ehedamatena kui enamik tänapäeva inimesi tänavatel.
On, kellele kaasa elada. Püütakse hästi, kõik, keda sügavamalt vaadeldakse, tõesti teevad oma parima. On andestus, rahu, helgus väga paljudele.
Ometi mitte kõigile. On kõrvaltegelasi, kes on nii julmad, et kurat viib nad elusalt põrgusse.
Kurat viib? Jaa, muidugi on see tänapäeva mõistes maagline realism nagu paljud 19. sajandi raamatud. Lood, kus tegelane lihtsalt tunneb, et peab seda teed minema, miski tõmbab teda. Kus seljad õnnetuste järel kooku vajuvad ja õnnistuste mõjul taas sirgu lähevad nagu nooruses, isegi sädelus tuleb silmisse tagasi. Kus aimatakse lähenevat valu ka kesk õnnepäevi ette ning hoitakse puhta tahtega elu kallite ihudes edasi tuksumas. Lisaks natuke naljakad eksimused realismi teelt. (Ei, keegi ei oska ainult seepärast ravitseda, et ta on naine ja kuulnud, kuidas seda tehakse. Pääsedes tormi eest kütmata onni ja jäädes selle põrandale magama ei taastata mitte jõudu, vaid surrakse külmumisse. Ja ma tahaks näha, kuidas õnnestub rasedus lõpuni kanda, nii et keegi teistest mõisaelanikest, kellest umbes pooled on pealegi naisterahvad, aru ei saa.)
Aga just sellepärast on see lugu kuidagi eriti elus, eriti kaunis. Selline vanaaegne. Saagalik? Oo. Jaa. Müüdid ja päriselu segamine - kas pole me kõigi elu tegelikult säärane? Omal kombel on maagiline realism elu tunnetamise osas vast realistlikumgi kui "realism".

Selle raamatu (tegelikult on nende kaante vahel kaks teost), mille pealkiri on "Tuuled puhuvad vaimudemäelt" peategelane on Adelheid, noore Dagi esialgu mõrsja ja siis naine, ning tegevused ja tegelased on enamasti edasi antud läbi tema pilgu. Uhke naine on see Adelheid, ent kui välja arvata üks juhtum (unustamatu "ta oskab ravitseda, kuigi pole seda iial teinud"), päris usutav. Isegi see, et ta pimedas metsas, kus iial käinud pole, vaid koera abiga õige tee leiab, on veidi seletatud. Ja kuidas ta iseenda sees ei tundu endale ei tugeva ega uhkena, on lausa väga usutav.
Me oleme enda sees harva sellised, kui välja paistame.

Järgmisel (triloogia viimasel) raamatul on peategelast raske nimetada. Vaatepunkt käib peatükkhaaval erinevate inimeste seas ringi ning keskendub mitmele teiselegi. Kuidas vaadatakse, kuidas nähakse, mis seespool toimub, on huviga jälgitav ning tegelasest saab pildi mitmest kandist nagu mitme kaameraga filmides näitlejast.
Seda ja eelmist raamatut kokku võttes tundub, et kogutriloogia peategelane on ikkagi Vana Dag. Tema elukäiku üsna algusest päris lõpuni see ju jälgib. Autor vaatab teda sümpaatiaga ning nii ta meeldis ka mulle lugejana.

Võibolla elusast peast poleks meeldinud. Mul ei ole tegelikult sedasorti meeste, kes oma pehmet sisemust harva välja näitavad, kompromissitult õiglased on ning naljalt sõnu ei kuluta, kui tegudega hakkama saab, vastu erilist sümpaatiat. Isegi kui vahel on neil pehme pool esil - enamasti on nad oma jõus hirmuäravad.
Mu oma vanaisa oli säärane ja seega on mul esmajärguline kogemus. Ta oli samuti ilus mees nagu Vana Dagki, isegi paksud lainelised juuksed olid tal.
Kirjutatud on raamat aga nii hästi, kirjeldatud on nii hästi, et ikkagi tundub Vana-Dag ka seestpoolt kaunis. Küllap oli mu vanaisagi. Pole kerge olla II maailmasõja ajal parasjagu väe-ealine ja mobilisatsiooni eest metsa putkata. Pole kerge teada, et ta vanim vend, kes peale mitut aastat Siberist tagasi, ennast kodumaal ära tappis.

Vanal Dagil on samaväärseid kogemusi.

Raamat ei lõppe Vana-Dagi surmaga. Ühe surmaga ei lõppe ju veel lugu. Lugu läheb edasi ja see, kuidas autor loogiliselt ja tunnetades kogu aeg tegelaste vaimuseisunditega kaasas käib, on imetore. Puhas nauding. Ning et kogu raamatu moraal paistab olevat: "Olge üksteise vastu head, kerge pole kellelgi", on veel eraldi erakordselt tore.

Veel plusse selle eest, et ka 50+ja 60+ inimesed on kaunid. Mitte "oli näha, et ta on kunagi väga ilus olnud," vaid nad on kaunid just sel hetkel, millest jutt. On ju, vanadusega ilu ei kao, muutub lihtsalt teistsuguseks.
Ja selle eest, et naine olemine ei tähenda, et inimeses poleks jõudu, tarkust ega kangekaelset uhkust.
Tegelikult on naised inimesed päris paljudes klassikalistes teostes, ent seda on alati rõõm näha.

[Emma · Rating 4 out of 5]

üks väheseid erandeid kus sequel on parem kui esimene osa 🤩

[Arnstein · Rating 5 out of 5]

The latter two books of the trilogy that chronicles Dag Bjørndal’s life; a tale about the difficulties associated with the regrets and reparations of a misspent existence.

Det blåser fra Dauingfjell (literal translation: The Wind Blows from Death Mountain; actual translation: The Wind from the Mountains¹) and Ingen vei går utenom (literal translation: No Road Goes Aside²) are both just shy of two hundred pages each, which makes them easy to bundle together in a single binding, and so they often have been.³ These books also belong together as far as the life and times of the protagonist is concerned. Notice for instance what the titles say about what path his life has taken: From the title of the second book, notice the mountain of death and how it blows its cold winds where the forests once sung – the title of the first book, Og bakom synger skogene, translates to And Behind Sing the Forests – which tells the reader that a change has occurred in Dag Bjørndal’s life. Where life, or nature, if you will, once held the primary influence over his life, now he looks towards the end of life in search of guidance. The title of the third book says nothing of songs or winds; the final influence on Dag is one that comes from within, fuelled by the realization that any and all paths a human life may take can only lead to a single beyond; Dag is a devout Lutheran, and his thoughts now centre around the question of how God might see him in light of the life he has lived. In the last two books Dag tries to salvage himself and those around him from the wrongs he has done. But ascertaining what is just and right turns out to be a difficult undertaking, they are foggy truths and it is only by those around him that Dag is finally able to see any contours in the mist.

Norway has become one of the most secular countries in the world, this is true, but this is a recent development. In the latter half of the 18th century and the first quarter of the 19th, which is the span covering the life of the protagonist, Norway was a place where the Lutheran approach to morale and worship was almost absolute. At the time the country was a Danish colony and therefore had no king of its own. Most Danish monarchs had no interest in their northern subjects beyond the taxes they collected from them and there was no Norwegian nobility at the time. Consequently, these neglected citizens had rather deaf ears when it came to the admonitions from Denmark, looking instead to the priests for guidance in their everyday lives. The priests and the land they lived on and by. That nature is a religious experience might be erroneously interpreted as being so at the cost of Christianity, but those who believe them to be separate from each other will neither understand Dag’s mindset nor the typical Norwegian one. Dag Bjørndal himself describes it like this:

There are deeds enough to de done. And then I quicken myself with a trip into the forest now and then, because I liven up in there, and Our Lord can be just as present in forest and weather and in the seasons of the year as in books and words. (Ingen vei går utenom, p. 100; reviewer’s own translation⁴)

Another telling description would be this one, observed by the character Adelheid from atop a horse, standing by Dag in a birch forest:

He stood with his feet so close together and seemed so immense across the shoulders from up there – a giant of figure, but he hunched his head so strangely down and stared away from her into the greenery, where evening shadows dragged themselves up the trunks, and where the gleam of the sun across the leaves began to pale. An old man – in the sunset – in thoughts no one could guess what were – in a church built by Our Lord himself – (Det blåser fra Dauingfjell, p. 169; reviewer’s own translation)

In short, churches built by mankind and books written by them are inferior to the works done directly by the deity of Christianity, namely the world itself, the most valuable part of which is the life that was sown there. Viewed like this the timber buildings adorned with a cross on top do not constitute the primary meeting place between the people and their god, they are merely the places of ceremony where the rituals of the religion are performed. Understanding this mindset is essential to understanding many of the underlying currents of Dag’s story, and much of the story itself will seem unreal to those who do not.

Another worthwhile piece of information is that Gulbranssen first began writing about Dag Bjørndal in 1914, a mere nine years after Norway got its independence from Sweden, and the trilogy is indeed marked by this period of strong patriotism. Perhaps the strongest sentiment of the kind comes as an outburst from Dag, spoken in the winter of 1814 – an important year to the nation: Napoléon Bonaparte lost the Battle of Leipzig in October the year before, and Denmark, which had been an ally of France in the Napoléonic Wars, withdrew from the war as a result of the defeat; Sweden, however, had thrown their lot with the winning side and was awarded Norway as a result from the peace treaty with Denmark; during the short time of upheaval between the union with Denmark and the union with Sweden, a gathering of Norwegian representatives took the opportunity to make a national constitution; it would take until 1905 for Norway to gain the sovereignty claimed in the constitution, but it was in 1814 that the claim was first made – when he first hears of Norway being traded to another country:

And so rose Old Dag – and became threateningly big in the flaming light of the hearth in the parlour where they sat, and there was an authoritative force in his voice when he said: “I further think that we could tend to ourselves, without Danes or Swedes – as in times of old. If there isn’t mettle enough in us for that, then I am equally satisfied, whether we are governed from the south or the east. Here at Bjørndal we govern ourselves for the most part, and... now I think we could bid Maiden Kruse bring some glasses to us. What say you about that?” (Det blåser fra Dauingfjell, pp. 93-94; reviewer’s own translation)

The books would not be published until the 1930’s, but the exhilaration found in the wake of the independence was never abandoned – and neither is it lost on today’s readers, especially since the trilogy were the first books to embrace a national-romantic characteristic which has since become one of the most important ones: Namely the dialects spoken throughout Norway, and thus also the local cultures that intertwine with them. While many later books would be written in “pure dialects” – i.e. written precisely as the dialects are spoken – the prose of Gulbranssen can best be characterised as a missing link, retaining traits from both the official written language of the time (Riksmål) and an unspecified Eastern-Norwegian dialect. The result is both surprisingly poetic and down-to-earth at the same time; both as magical as if this was high fantasy and as common as if it was village gossip. In encapsulating the elated and the downtrodden, the language manages two feats simultaneously: It is able to connect Dag Bjørndal’s ponderous mindset with his farmer’s heart – these two characteristics might have seemed so at odds with each other that they would end up feeling like separate parts of the same person, but the duality of the language rather leaves a gestalt feeling of a single, unified personality. The other feat is to bridge the pastoral world and high culture, successfully elevating the farmer to the noblest of people, and to the representative of the spirit of a nation.

Unfortunately, in the wake of the second world war the works of Gulbranssen was reinterpreted through the lens of hatred. Once Norway was liberated from Nazi Germany the hunt began for more or less hidden supporters of said occupants, often turning into mobs hunting witches rather than genuine seekers of justice. Some of the frothing seekers of vengeance against whoever-is-closest-at-hand were literates and they lifted their pens against this trilogy and its author, making many claims on how it contains proof of his sympathies with Hitler, often bolstered with a blatant lie or two. Apparently the most damning of accusations were that Gulbransson let the books be published in German translations – which he did, but this is a rather meaningless accusation considering that by then he had also consented to translations in Swedish, Danish, Dutch, Finnish, and British – and for answering the (then) occupants when they wanted him to tour Germany and promote their view of the story – he answered ‘no’ – and for not criticizing Nazi-Germany in his journalism – he didn’t mention it because he was a sports journalist.⁵ In short, they grasped at straws to vilify him. But it worked. The venom broke Gulbranssen and he never wrote again. When his works are mentioned people still think of him as a fascist. They are no longer published the world over, even the rare Norwegian edition is published only in small numbers. This is why one of the most essential works of Norwegian literature is not taught in the schools of its home country. This is why it went from being the fourth best selling works worldwide of the 1930’s to complete obscurity. And it is why today’s reader is better off searching the second hand book stores to find a copy than to pray for the off chance that a new edition comes out. In fact, most countries hasn’t seen a new edition for decades – for instance, the most recent English one is from 1937 – and the few available second hand fetch prices only an enthusiast would be willing to pay. The hundred-year anniversary is not until 2033, which is still many years away when this review is written (i.e. 2019), but hopefully by then we will have seen a renewed interest in these books, perhaps even a new English edition, this time with all three books included – never before or after has a Norwegian book sold so well across the globe, never before or after has one been such an international success, and only a few have been as important as far as the Norwegian national-romantic movement is concerned – surely it deserves such a renaissance and more.



1. The actual translation of the title of the second book misses something essential, namely that the wind that blows does so from a specific mountain: Death Mountain. Thus this reviewer saw it prudent to translate it in a manner which preserves its original intent.

2. The third book was never translated to English – it is not even included in the misleadingly titled The Bjorndal Cycle, published by G. P. Putnam’s Sons – and so there exist no official English translation of its title. However there exists editions in German, Swedish, Danish, Dutch, Czech, Slovakian, Bulgarian, Estonian, and Croatian, and perhaps others which I am not aware of.

3. The volume being reviewed is one such instance where the two books are combined. More specifically it is the edition published by Den norske bokklubben in 1973 (ISBN: 82-525-0158-3) – a version which, it might be added, shares the artwork of the corresponding edition of the first book, Og bakom synger skogene , and as I observed in my review of it, it is terribly misrepresentative as far as the story is concerned. The recommendation to the potential reader would therefore be to ignore it and to place their focus on the synopsis instead when deciding whether or not to read these books.

4. The English editions are all from the 1930’s and fetch rather high prices on the second hand market, hence I never bought them. Also, if their titles are anything to go by then the translations do not preserve the original intent very well. For both of these reasons I choose to make my own translations of anything quoted in this review. (Of course, regarding No Road Goes Aside I would have had to do my own anyway since there are no existing ones.)

5. The author’s Norwegian Wikipedia page goes into more depth on this. Unfortunately for those who do not read Norwegian, the English page does not.

[Sillerdis · Rating 5 out of 5]

Eesti "Tõde ja õigus" Norra minimalistlikus stiilis.

[Cathy Sommer · Rating 5 out of 5]

Amazing. New favourite book. ❤️

[Kristiina Roosild · Rating 5 out of 5]

Trygve Gulbranssen's books are definitely my all time favorites. Can't recommend enough!

[Kačka (Čtení s Katie) · Rating 5 out of 5]

How cruel was to say goodbye to Dag and whole Bjorndal family... I really love this book =)

[HB · Rating 5 out of 5]

Love the trilogy. Beautiful story.

[Pavlína · Rating 4 out of 5]

Velká spokojenost. Netradiční, ale o to zajímavější. A vnitřní monology hlavních osob, mňam.

[Merike Taza · Rating 5 out of 5]

Põhjamaa inimese kargus, selgus ja loodusega koos elamise harmoonia