The White Bear

by Henrik Pontoppidan, Paul Larkin (translator)

Love, faith, and the political mingle in these two short novels by a Nobel Prize-winning Danish author. One about a young couple making a new life in Rome, the other about a priest who goes to live among native peoples in Greenland, both books explore the reaches of the human heart through their complex and unforgettable characters.

The Rearguard and The White Bear are two of Nobel laureate Henrik Pontoppidan’s most acclaimed tales of personal, political, and religious strife, full of keen psychological insight, set amid the sweeping changes of late nineteenth-century Danish society. Pontoppidan’s prose is spellbinding in its taut, unvarnished grace, a quality translator Paul Larkin masterfully captures in this stunning new translation.

Newlyweds Jørgen Hallager and Ursula Branth are as different as night and day. The brash son of a poor village teacher, Jørgen is an avowed socialist whose revolutionary beliefs translate into his work as a painter of social realism. Ursula, on the other hand, comes from an upper-middle-class family and is politically conservative. Though each strives to change the other’s worldview as they start their new life in Rome, tensions rise, and misunderstandings abound. A searching examination of art and individuality, this version of The Rearguard is the never-before-translated 1905 edition, which elucidates with greater complexity Jorgen’s character as well as Ursula’s resolve to temper him with love.

The White Bear is the odyssey of the priest Thorkild Müller, who becomes minister to a remote Inuit tribe in Greenland and is slowly integrated within the community. After spending much of his adult life in Greenland, he returns to Denmark, where his popularity among his parishioners brings the ire of the Church upon his head.

Genres: Fiction, Classics, Danish, Denmark, Literature, Short Stories, Nobel Prize

168 pages, Paperback

First published December 31, 1894

About the author

Awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1917 "for his authentic descriptions of present-day life in Denmark." (Award shared with Karl Gjellerup.)

Reviews

[Paul Fulcher · Rating 3 out of 5]

Henrik Pontoppidan shared the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1917 with Karl Gjellerup - it was awared to Pontoppidan for "his authentic descriptions of present-day life in Denmark."

His most famous novel is Lykke-Per (translated as Lucky Per but also as A Fortunate Man).

This book includes two novellas, translated by Paul Larkin:
The White Bear, from Isbjørnen (1887); and
The Rearguard, from Nattevagt (originally 1894 but this is based on a 1905 edition)

It is the latest book from the Asymptote Book Club, "dedicated to world literature in translation that partners with top independent publishers on both sides of the Atlantic", and is published in The NYRB Classics series "dedicated to publishing an eclectic mix of fiction and nonfiction from different eras and times and of various sorts. Many of these titles are works in translation and almost all feature an introduction by an outstanding writer, scholar, or critic of our day."

The book club introduction to the book is here.

The White Bear opens:

IMAGINE, dear reader, a large flame-red face, from which hangs a thick and matted snow-white beard. A mass of beard, indeed, where old soup and bread remnants also often reside, not to mention more bits of brown tobacco plug and snuff than is ever appetizing. Add to this a shining and gnarled forehead, bordered to the sides and back by white neck hairs hanging in curls over a coat collar; a pair of small, dense, furry ears; thick slabs of cottonwool-like eyebrows; and a mighty nose that tends to a bluish luster between large, penetrating, oceanic eyes. Add further to this countenance an incessant, seemingly unconscious animation; a frequent smile while in thought; an impish narrowing of one eye, along with a sudden, involuntary raising and lowering of those same weighty eyebrows, accompanied by similar movements of arm or shoulder—imagine all these features, and you will be able to form a rough image of the source of Uggelejre county seat's greatest distress; the anguish of its priests; the indignation of its schoolteachers, and the utter despair of the bishop himself-yes, this is the parish priest for Soby and Sorvad: one Thorkild Asger Ejnar Frederik Müller by name.

Thorkild Müller, son of a Jutland teacher who died when the boy was young, leaving the family is relative poverty was nevertheless sent by his relatives to grammar school and university, on a path to the priesthood. But, a poor student, he was one of those assigned to a mission in Greenland, whereby an extra stipent was paid to those prepared to commit to a ministerial post in that remote land - the renunciation of sin, of the flesh, of the world, and the embrace of eternal ice.

Unlike many of his brethren however, the bear-like figure of Thorkild rather takes to life in Greenland, marrying one of the locals and becoming part of the community: rather than converting and edifying heathens, they had converted him. Was this some latent savagery in his own bloodline that had welled up again through an inherited failing in his own character?

The novel is set after his eventual return to Denmark, after the death of his wife and a desire to once more stand in the shade of the large verdant forests of his fatherland. But his no-nonsense, not entirely theologically sound approach to ministry, while favoured by some of his parishioners, causes horror in the religious establishment, and when it appears the bishop may strip him of his ministry he instead disappears, presumably back to the icy wastes where his children remain.

(More an expanded short story but oddly personally resonant as our CofE vicar in the rural Norfolk of my childhood had an interesting back story of having spent time in the arctic and had a stuffed polar bear in the vicarage.)

The Rearguard opens in Rome:

ONE BRIGHT and sunny morning in early December, a tall, powerfully built man was to be seen making his way up the Via del Tritone in Rome's Centro Storico. He wore a thick blue peacoat and his bulldog countenance glowered at anyone he met along his way. But for all that, and in the manner of a man who was bound for some great delight, he hummed cheerfully to himself as his long strides hastened his passage.

This was none other than the controversial, not to say infamous, Danish painter Jorgen Hallager. Or "Red Jørgen," as he was widely known, partly because of his fiery hair and beard. More formally, though, because he was considered the leader of a circle of young radical painters-the so-called Dregs group-which for a decade now had scandalized Danish art lovers and provoked a rising commotion with its revolutionary crusade in the name of social realist art.
…
Jørgen Hallager was still "strange" to Rome. He had only arrived there a few days before and the cause of his visit was his marriage to the beautiful Ursula Branth, only child of State Councilor Branth, the well-known connoisseur of the arts and one of the Conservative regime's most favored figures in Denmark. Indeed, the strong rumor was that Hr. Branth had the ready ear of the minister himself, where matters of theater, literature, and the fine arts were concerned.

"Scoundrel!" Hallager muttered as his mind strayed to his father-in-law; his grimace soon replaced, however, by a triumphant smile that spread across his broad lips.

The tension in the novel comes from the presumption of both the bourgeois Ursula and the revolutionary Jørgen that each will tame what they see as the excesses of the other, as Ursula expresses to the third main character, Thorkild Drehling, originally a protege of Jørgen's, increasingly dropping his anarchastic principles and social-realism in favour of the beauty of more fantastical art and acceptance into society:

“Yes, he is obstinate and perhaps arrogant due to the great gifts he possesses.. all true! But who else has had to fight his own way through so many obstacles like him? When I think of all the things he has had to endure, right from his earliest childhood—all kinds of humiliations, poverty, and want; yes, even hunger... then I well understand how he got that dark and bitter view of life, for which he is always criticized ... But as for the rest," she added after a pregnant pause in which she seemed to offer a prayer with a deep smile to Venus, the evening star, "that doesn't mean he will always be like that."

Thorkild raised his head with a start. His eyes wide in amazement.

While Jørgen is horrified by developments back in Denmark, where the left and right wing are increasingly converging on a compromise on constitiutional reform:

"Right... let's see what's new from our Lilliput land," he said.
Again as if nothing untoward had happened between himself and his wife. He spread out one of Copenhagen's main opposition newspapers in front of him. "And of course, yet another long spiel today by that hypocrite priest and his religious freethinking. A man who left his flock and ministry but still claims the cloth! Not worth reading.. Religious freethinkers! Nonsense! Hermaphrodites is what I call them. Neither one thing nor the other. You'll see, Ursula. It won't be long before we have capitalist socialists and left-wing conservatives. A whole circus."

Both novellas make for stimulating reads, if a little styilised. 3.5 stars.

[Josh · Rating 3 out of 5]

Made up of two novellas, "The White Bear" was my first exposure to Pontoppidan and depending on how I feel next year, I may read his other translated well-known piece "Lucky Per" (or also known as "A Fortunate Man"), but can't say that I'm rushing to buy it.

* The White Bear - 4 stars
* The Rearguard - 2 stars

I'm wondering if it was the translation that turned me off on 'The Rearguard' because it was more wordy and long-winded than 'The White Bear', but it was also not as engaging.

As I know I've been quite vague, I don't really feel like describing my feelings about these two other than the first was much better than the second. If you average it out, my enjoyment of the first makes up for my boredom of the majority of the second.

[Dhanaraj Rajan · Rating 4 out of 5]

There are two novellas in this collection.

First One is titled as THE WHITE BEAR.

This is a story about petty politics that is operative in a diocese.
Imagine a priest who is from a lowly background and who is a dimwit in his studies....Imagine him doing very well in the parish even though it is a far remote parish....imagine the popularity that he gains....
This is the situation. And what does the other priests from the neigbouring parishes do....they feel upset that a simple dull headed priest was doing far better than them...they feel threatened and jealous.....and what do they do.....they wait for an opportunity for a simple mistake from the part of the popular priest.....they set traps.....and when the popular priest is caught unawares, they gang up and throw him out of the parish with the help of the authority.....
The set up is Lutheran Protestantism. But I think this may apply to any other Church situation as well.
This is the crux of the story. And this is narrated in a beautiful language and in a humorous manner at times.
As I read I was reminded of J.F. Powers' superb short story collection in which al the stories were set in the backdrop of a Catholic Parish. It is titled Presence of Grace.

The Second Novella is titled REARGUARD.

This is a story of a doomed marriage - the marriage between a Staunch Socialist and a Full Blooded Bourgeois. The contrasting opinions emerge in chapter after chapter and they are captured in a beautiful prose.
The language looked archaic initially. But as I persisted on, it grew on me. In fact, I began to love it and I ended up loving it.
The Translator's note at the end helped further in understanding certain references found in this novella. And I am grateful.

It is worth a try.

[Emmeline · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book is two works, a longish short story and a novella, by the Nobel Prizewinning Danish author Henrik Pontoppidan. My favourite bookseller tried to get me to read his more famous work, A Fortunate Man, but it was 800 pages, so here we are.

I was finding these two stories a little underwhelming, but looking into them more, I see they are both from the late 19th century, which makes them seem a little more transgressive than I otherwise would find them.

In “The White Bear,” a mediocre seminary student is assigned to a remote posting… in Greenland. There he lives among the Inuit, and far from bringing them into the Christian fold, he discovers a more authentic side of himself. When he finally returns to Denmark, he is incapable of fitting into the staid and moralizing society he left behind.

In “The Rearguard,” a socialist painter marries a bourgeois Danish girl in Rome. Each feels they can change the other, neither can.

Both stories had interesting moments, but both felt unfinished. “The Rearguard” was in some way the more interesting, featuring debates about politics and art, but it also had quite a cop-out ending. “The White Bear” was less about the Inuit than I hoped (and much less about polar bears than I hoped, the title referring to the protagonist instead) but was certainly an unusual read for something published in 1887.

[Leah · Rating 5 out of 5]

This volume contains two stories from Nobel Prize-winning Danish novelist, Henrik Pontoppidan, in new translations by Paul Larkin. Annoyingly the book doesn’t say when the stories were first published, but Google tells me that The White Bear dates from 1887, and The Rearguard from 1894. The White Bear is a substantial short story, while The Rearguard is just about long enough to be considered a novella.

The White Bear

Tells the story of Thorkild Asger Ejnar Fredrik Müller, a parish priest who has lived his life among the Inuit of Greenland. A poor student who never studied, he was nevertheless considered eligible for a scheme of the Danish church to give financial support to indigent students in return for their service in this inhospitable country, tasked with spreading Christianity among the Inuit. But Thorkild, rather than converting the heathen, is converted by the Inuit to their way of life, though he still guides them towards God. He marries a girl of the people, Rebecca, known as Seqineq – the Sun, and they are happy and have many children. (Here the author talks about Seqineq as if she is a child, or childlike – clearly lesser than Thorkild and I feel because of her race rather than her gender. He means it sweetly, intending to show she’s a worthy wife because of her good nature, but it’s still a little uncomfortable.)

This is an excellent character study of Thorkild, a huge bear of a man, somewhat wild and uncouth, but good-hearted. Even more, though, it’s a wonderful depiction of Inuit life, ruled by the seasons of the sun – nomadic in summer and cave-dwelling in winter, and living in the same traditions as their ancestors through the ages.

Finally, the first slim and narrow but glowing sliver of sun peeked out over the blue-tinged mountains in the south. Big tears of joy ran down their hollowed cheeks. People shouted and clapped their hands. Jumped, as much as they could with their clumsy limbs, and fell on each other’s necks in pure emotion. Mothers held up their children and cried out in pure rapture and, in imitation, the older children stretched out their small undernourished hands towards this all-powerful source of heat and threw their own voices into the halleluiah cacophony:
“Seqineq! Seqineq! The Sun! The Sun!”

Thorkild grows old and begins to think longingly of Denmark. When Seqineq dies one winter, he seeks and gets authority to return home and is given a parish. At first his parishioners love him – he doesn’t preach at them and is always willing to lend a physical hand when needed. But his boisterous coarseness horrifies his fellow priests and the bishop. It becomes a battle between Thorkild and the church for control of the hearts and souls of the parishioners, and Thorkild’s deacon, Ruggaard, is tasked by the powers-that-be with undermining the priest’s popularity among the people…

A great little story, full of humour, which bashes the church and organised religion, but not faith itself. It’s the descriptions and the characters that work so well – the ambitious career-minded clergy, the sun-worshipping Inuit, sneaky Ruggaard, and simple but honest Thorkild, uncouth, yes, but a better man than all of them.

The Rearguard

Jørgen Hallager, leader of a Danish social-realist art movement, and fanatical about it, marries Ursula Branth, a conventional young woman who expects marriage and life in Rome to tame her wild husband. He, on the other hand, thinks marriage will encourage Ursula to throw off her shackles of conformity and join him in the struggle to bring about some rather unspecified revolution. Though Jørgen is another huge, loud, bear of a man and Ursula is a slender, delicate sprig of womanhood, it transpires that their wills are equally strong, and so the battle is set for some mutually assured destruction.

Just as well written as The White Bear, and very readable, I didn’t enjoy this one quite so much, mainly because I get rather tired of intellectuals pontificating about the plight of the working man while living in luxury. While I admired Thorkild despite his lack of couth, Jørgen, as chief pontificator in this one, irritated me despite his eloquence and obvious intelligence. Ursula’s belief that she could change him may have been naive, but his attempts to change her are bullying and hectoring, and I had an urgent desire to hit him over the head with something heavy – perhaps one of his own realist paintings of the downtrodden workers. No doubt that would have sent Ursula into another of her frequent hysterical sobbing fits, though, and I’d had more than enough of them by the end!

The background to the story is the revolutionary movement then growing across many parts of Europe, and specifically in Denmark. I don’t know anything about the politics of Denmark at that time, but it didn’t matter – it was all clear enough, and the specifics aren’t important in the story. Pontoppidan is focusing on the role artists play in political change – those who use art to encourage change and those who use it to uphold the established order. My sympathies (as a very mild lefty) should have been with Jørgen as he tried to raise the plight of the poor through his art. But I found him such an obnoxious character that I ended up on the side of his friend, another Thorkild, who sold out his social-realist principles for the sake of beauty and success. I’m not sure that’s the effect Pontoppidan was aiming for.

Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed both of these stories, especially The White Bear. Fortunately a few of his books are available in English translation, so Pontoppidan’s back catalogue might just be my next literary expedition.

NB This book was provided for review by the publisher, NYRB.

[Yuri Sharon · Rating 4 out of 5]

This volume contains two novellas – that of the title, and The Rearguard. Although quite different, they both warrant a rating somewhere around a four.

[MountainAshleah · Rating 5 out of 5]

Highly recommended. I'm a big fan of the NYRB publications as they compel me to break out of my love affair with 18th, 19th, and 20th-century canonical British, American, and Russian writers ("not that there's anything wrong with that!"). I'm relatively familiar with the work of both contemporary and earlier Scandinavian writers (Giants in the Earth is one of my favorites and I recently completed Kristin Lavransdatter). While I am certainly no scholar of this literature, I am an avid reader. And so I was really looking forward to this slender book of two novellas (The White Bear and The Rearguard), which I consumed in about two days, having to take frequent breaks to think about what I'd read as well as to look up some information to supplement my terribly inadequate knowledge of the era. This reading experience was as edifying and enjoyable as I'd hoped. My paperback that had arrived so fresh and pristine in the mail just a few days ago is in pretty bad shape now, the pages mangled and covered with scribbles and notes. For me, this was a thoroughly engaging and memorable reading experience (5 stars for that), which, of course, is why I subscribed to the NYRB monthly book club. I also believe this translation of The Rearguard marks its availability in English--and it's a fantastic read, with its political underpinnings, so much more than a "marriage story" as the blurb describes. And now that I have a taste of Pontoppidan's work, this only lures me into wanting to read Pontoppidan's masterwork (A Fortunate Man), coincidentally also published by NYRB, and at 880 or so pages, a far more expensive purchase. Funny how that works, right? For more information on The White Bear and The Rearguard: https://www.nyrb.com/products/the-rea...

[Kalin · Rating 4 out of 5]

3.5
Loved the first story, the second story was fine at best.

[Jana · Rating 2 out of 5]

i appreciate what he was doing but i didn't quite vibe with it 🙂‍↕️

[Kristian · Rating 4 out of 5]

The central debate of both books, despite the wide variety of characters, is society and governance in Denmark. The White Bear, in my view, depicts a struggle with the function of religion and the respect of the church. One, a means of comfort, and universal connection, the other being elitist, guiding others through the ethos of disconnect.
In The White Bear, the church of Denmark guides its people by differentiating itself from them. This relationship is thrown into turmoil when the white bear himself shows up in Denmark, rugged beyond comparison of even the peasantry of Jutland after his long stay in Greenland, which sends a panic through his fellow clergy.
By its nature The White Bear is a fairly simple story, with a memorable character. A man finds god and happiness in nature, but when he returns to society it rejects both as he tries to share his newfound wisdom. But beneath that is a question of leadership and worship. What is a leader to a people who know nothing of governance? It is a person who must know something that they do not. It is a person who must be better than them. And it is this divorce between the governed and the governors that The White Bear exposes and reinforces. The peasants at first being mystified and relieved by their new relatable priest, by the end finds him discomforting, as the distance they had felt before to religion and worship, relying solely on their tithes in order to one day rise to the heavens, becomes endangered by further responsibility, as their new priest does nothing to speak in a tone above their understanding. This relationship to governance is clearly related not only to worship, but also to politics itself, displaying the comfort and stability of a higher class making all the decisions, while the rest can dedicate themselves to their crops.

The Rearguard, on the other hand, suffers from its depth. Underneath the thin surface of a plot lives an extremely interesting debate about the purpose of art, and the people who use it to reinforce a dreamlike state of fantasies despite the material world’s struggles, and the people who use it to raise a cause, fixating on the ugly, the depraved and the unfair, to the point of complete alienation of their fellow man. As it is, with its around 100 pages, it both feels extremely long, because of how much of it is reserved for speeches, and extremely short, because of how fertile these discussions actually are.

Jørgen often comes off as didactic, serving as a provocative mouthpiece of an author that couldn’t think of a proper rebuttal to his character’s statements. This interpretation is only reinforced by Jørgen’s authorial speeches, that ranges from Latin phrases, danish slang, obscure phrases and an incessant capability of always getting the last word in every debate, to the point where his opponent is reduced to sour muddles. But, clear favorisation has a deeper purpose, as even though Jørgen wins every debate, and wills Ursula to his side, he still loses the war, and is by the end reduced to repeat his fathers drunken hope that his son will grow up to be as despicable as he himself would want to be. From the book’s perspective Jørgen might be right, but he is too unadaptable to turn it into anything grander than being the smartest man in the room.
His opposite in this context is his former friend Thorkild, whom, despite losing the last chance he had at gaining the love of the woman of his dreams, as a result of his weak arguments, has tapped into the very soul of Denmark itself, and is therefore raised to high status. Thorkild is right to wobble. Denmark was not ready to lessen itself of its royalty and its fantasies.
Ursula’s father on the other hand, who clearly represents the aristocrats and the dreamers of the past, is, just like Jørgen, reduced to a sad sight at the end as well. Both extremes fall to the wayside for the doubters, as Denmark progresses into settlement between workers and the rich, never failing to brush off any chance she gets at utopian extremes.
The final question of character is what Ursula might represent? Is she the people of Denmark swinging to either side as the tension rises? Her death seems almost ironic, as her final conviction to Jørgen’s perspective seemingly gets paved over, as her grave is set in the dreamlike worldscape of Thorkild and her father. Her death might very well be caused by her willingness to understand Jørgen, as after his final discussion with Torkild she seems to understand that his resolve must stem from something deeper than just brutish materialism or lack of tact. Jørgen understands the world of art, he understands the goal of his competitor to the point where he can lay out their worldview before they get a chance to form it, but refuses to accept it, stemming from a vow he made at the mistreatment of his parents. He knows what she has to offer, but he cannot accept it, and when she finally realizes this, and throws herself at his feet in complete surrender, wanting instead to become like him instead, he scares her to death, incapable of restraining that manly threat that he defines himself by. Jørgen is a beast surrounded by people. And even though Ursula loves him for his strength, she, like her father, could never truly find peace in his presence. He is the bomb that blows up towns. The already ready fuse, eager to get lit. And that tension, by the end, became too much for her mind to bear.

There is also a theme of international influence on Denmark in this book, as the dove-eyed romantic’s adoration of Rome is directly contrasted with Jørgen, who goes to great length to find the ugly part of a beautiful country, wanting to besmirch the marble-like awe the aristocrats of Denmark has for a country not their own. Jørgen makes it clear how he longs to go back to Denmark, but, like his counterpoint, he also makes the grave mistake of fetishizing the extreme nature of Italy, to the point where he argues the justification of terror, losing him, by the end, the country’s ear. That the book’s narrative takes place outside of Denmark, but centers around the future of it, is a darkly humorous depiction of the relationship the Danes have to their home, barely bothering to cover that this debate between extremist ideologies could never exist in its actual climate. Only Thorkild properly ceases from this journey to Italy the product that Denmark actually craves, painting the Danish myths along with the landscape of the ancient mediterraneans, tying both together in a knot that ensures the timelessness that Denmark craves, but leaves its spirit alone to travel at its own pace, neither choosing to stall, nor settling into a sprint.

The book is because of all these things best understood as dialectic. After romance comes realism, pushing away the angels and fairy-dust with depictions of human suffering, but this too can only last so long, before the universal again must take the center. The world does not want to wallow in misfortune, it wants to celebrate and progress. Jørgen’s greatest injustice is his role as the man who wants to push suffering onto others so that they may finally focus on it, but this comes at the neglect of human spirit. Happiness becomes his enemy, to the point where everyone who shows him any sign of love gets diagnosed as childish, or in the case of Ursula, demented, leading to his outcry, and her demise.
Art must possess both meaning and beauty in order to be whole.

If we then were to take a step back and look at both The White Bear and The Rearguard from a distance, we would see that together they discuss society almost as a whole. One depicts a struggle between worship and governance, the other showing the active discussion between ideology and art. But what in the end connects them both is an ending where nothing really changes. The struggle that we bore witness to in both cases ends on a whimper, as Denmark remains the same despite its heroes. Pontoppidan therefore shows a world in turmoil and excited by change, but also a country incapable of actually changing. This is not the perspective of a conservative, but rather a disenchanted progressive, seeing the struggles that he cares for get brushed to the side with only minor concessions. The people in his story who crave for change all get ostracized by their countrymen, with Jørgen in particular, seeing it as a form of martyrdom that he hopes to leave for his son as well. Reluctant conservatism is therefore the prevailing spirit of both stories, as even the true reactionaries are left in the rot by the end, as their idols have been questioned, and their arguments were found inadequate.
From the perspective of later Danish works like Hærværk, this reluctance to change, this slow walk that can never break into a sprint, is the heaviest burden of Denmark. Pontoppidan with both stories have rightly shown how an excited populace get smothered beneath their countries lack of spirit. To be Danish is to be safe, but this safeness bludgeons any call for change and higher meaning.

[Andy Weston · Rating 4 out of 5]

There’s actually two novellas in this book, but it’s the title story that carries it.

A young Danish pastor, having been a hopeless theology student, is sent to a parish in the far north of Greenland. It is considered a lifelong exile for dullards. He is an unkempt, bearlike huge man who has suffered much abuse and bullying, but is not as slow-witted as he seems. He immerses himself in his new life, marries and has children, but some years later, after his wife dies, he asks to return to Denmark, but doesn’t reckon for the politics that goes with his new appointment. It’s a simple tale, but beautifully told. The plot chugs along, but it’s really the locations and the characters that demand the real attention.

The second story is about a newly married Danish artist in Rome. It’s okay, but doesn’t have anywhere near the impact that The White Bear does.

I read this while in the Faroe Islands, where to imagine the early days of missionaries sent to wild places is probably a bit easier. It calls to mind the film Godland also, in this case the intrepid pastor is sent to a remote part of Iceland.

[Natalie Mitchell · Rating 4 out of 5]

One of those books I should revisit at some point - my attention span for reading has been less than ideal as of late and I think this book benefits from some juicy rumination🤌 also the NYRB edition has a very interesting translators note at the end!

[Dolf van der Haven · Rating 5 out of 5]

A new translation of a work by Pontoppidan is a thing to be celebrated, for this Nobel Prize winner has been severely neglected outside of his native Denmark.
This volume has two novellas, The White Bear (also known as The Polar Bear) and The Rearguard. Quite different stories, but undeniably Pontoppidan ones in their strong character depictions. The Rearguard even feels quite modern, even though it was written in 1890.
Hopefully more translations will follow after this one.

[Anastasia]

Written in Oslo on 15/11/25 despite being published in Copenhagen on 23/08/26

The goal of life is to understand ourselves ("self" here encompassing all aspects of our being, as a conscious "Dasein" - see also ancient Greek philosophy "γνώθι σαυτόν"/"know thyself"). We achieve this goal through journeys in this world - both literal and metaphorical. Anything can be a journey as long as the experience is conscious. (Conscious experience here refers to the perception of any changing state - whether internal or external. Example: the flow of the river (Siddhartha by Herman Hesse), "You cannot cross the same river twice" (Heracletus). In this journey we interact with the world in two ways: an ephemeral (through repetition**) and a permanent (through Creation*).
In our stories here, our heroes undergo literal journeys (to Greenland and to Italy) which alter their sense of self upon returning to their base: Denmark.
Our first hero in the "White Bear", pastor Muller, is a misfit in Denmark who finds himself and God in the wild nature of Greenland and creates a large progeny (permanence). This short novella excels at subtlety but suffers from its persistent adherence to exoticism. Overall a nice parable of finding yourself (peace) in unexpected places and through means that are not widely accepted (a cleric having chldren with a local Greenlandic woman, being compassionate with the everyday folk while skipping the big words of the scriptures), despite remaining misunderstood by your peers.
Our second hero, Jørgen Hallagher, is the exact opposite to our first protagonist, and the two stories work very well together to create this stark contrast. He is a man who carries strongly consolidated convictions due to his childhood which he refuses to soften even if they cost him everything: a loved one, fame and his sanity. He is doomed to repetition - trying to recapture his young love with a woman portrayed as inferior, and painting the same themes obsessively, while raising his young son to be a mirror image of him, and, eventually his successor. He is also portrayed as a misfit, implying that both the sinner and the saint have a similar fate in society, with the latter being perhaps redeemed after their passing.
In conclusion, the juxtaposition of these two novellas works well, even though I am not certain whether it was a conscious choice. Had they been apart, an entirely different (and most likely superficial) analysis would have arisen.

*I support that Creation is the highest pursuit and achievement of being human - the most noble pursuits being art, philosophy and science. All three serve the same function to their core: knowing and recreating God.

**Perhaps "Hell" in the modern Christian way is not random: the eternal repetition and lack of progress is considered inherently evil. An interesting point in a society of constant distraction and mindless entertainment.

[Victor · Rating 3 out of 5]

Rounding down from 3.5 stars.

The White Bear - 4 stars. Really enjoyed this story, Thorkild is a compelling protagonist and thought that there was interesting commentary about Greenland’s relationship to Denmark. As a priest, Thorkild’s cult of personality is quite fascinating in the context of Denmark’s politics. Would have appreciated a more tightly resolved ending though.

The Rearguard - 3 stars. Liked the setting in Rome and the focus on Danish art history, but I didn’t enjoy Jørgen as a protagonist. I found him insufferable and his political jargon shallow. His relationship with Ursula is compelling but has an unsatisfying resolution with (spoilers) her sudden death.

[Cristina · Rating 4 out of 5]

Here we have two novellas, one set in Greenland and the other in Rome. The first contains vivid descriptions of Greenland and the way of life among the native people, which we encounter as we follow a Danish priest sent to minister to them. When he returns to Denmark, he faces difficulties as he finds that he no longer fits in. But did he ever?

The second, very different story centers on a married couple and their circle, Danes living in Rome at the end of the 1800s. We see the political struggles of the era, particularly rising class tensions following the Industrial Revolution, played out through relationships and through art, with two of the main characters being painters. I was struck by how relevant many of the arguments still feel today, especially the tensions between idealism and reality, the ease with which people of privilege can treat as an abstraction the struggles of the poor, and also the role of art in times of social change. Both stories have me plenty to think about.

[Lars Svendsen · Rating 4 out of 5]

Fine beskrivelser af tiden og hovedpersonerne.
Begge historier velopbyggede enkle og konsekvente.
Giver også lidt historisk nysgerrighed

[Jacob · Rating 4 out of 5]

Interesting two novellas. Liked the second one more, some interesting mid-19th century politics flying around. The main character was obsessed with the fact that everyone was in search of a universal Good through art, lit, etc. and that was causing them to look back to the renaissance too much. Instead, he focused a lot on the there and then, as capitalism was maturing and leading the working class to social destitution. Wanted painters to use “social realist” techniques, not trying to copy the greats of centuries ago. In concept, I agree, but he also had some wacky shit in there that I wasn’t on board with. Still, I took something from it, so that’s cool.

[Barry · Rating 3 out of 5]

This story, published by the Danish Nobel Prize winner in 1887, is not about a polar bear, but rather a giant bear of a man. He is kindhearted but uncouth and seems quite unsuited for the life of a priest, but is nevertheless funneled into the priesthood and then shipped off to Greenland where he lives among the Inuit.

I would not regard this a diatribe against faith in general nor Christianity in particular, but it is certainly a stinging rebuke to the sterile and corrupt state church.

[K's Bognoter · Rating 4 out of 5]

Jeg havde (næsten) glemt, hvor god Henrik Pontoppidan er. Den lille kortroman, Isbjørnen, er kun et hjørne af hans værk, men den rummer i sig mange af de temaer, der præger Pontoppidans store forfatterskab, og hans sproglige mesterskab er let genkendeligt.
Læs min anmeldelse på K’s bognoter: https://bognoter.dk/2021/04/30/henrik...

[Carrie · Rating 4 out of 5]

Heavy stuff, heavy characters. As usual, it is hard to review works in translation with no knowledge of the cultural framework at work. Still enjoyable, and both stories in this volume were atmospheric and gripping.

[Matthew Calvert · Rating 5 out of 5]

The titular story was pretty solid, but the real gem in this book was the second story, 'The Rearguard'. Great high drama between the most pretentious, uncompromising socialist ever invented and his wife, a bourgeois woman who just wants to enjoy her life. I ate it up.

[Emily · Rating 4 out of 5]

Rather a grim worldview, but well worth reading. Both stories involve abnormally large men like something from mythology, complete w huge beards. Neither seem to make good ends

[Jared Oliver · Rating 3 out of 5]

Finished this btw. A long time ago lowk just forgot lol. I liked the first novella better than the second but overall it was pretty cool

[ROLLAND Florence · Rating 5 out of 5]

Yes, I should have read Pontoppidan in the original version.
But I got super excited about a new English translation. Paul Larkin did an excellent job, making these short stories accessible to a wider audience.

Pontoppidan is brilliant at writing strong male characters who do not look like brutes.

The descriptions of Greenland are breathtaking, summoning the terrible beauty of the Arctic and the customs of the Greenlandic People, with respect (in a way that is very modern for a book written at the beginning of the XXth century). Readers not aware of the complex and difficult relationship that Denmark and Greenland had (and still have!) will miss out on the most groundbreaking elements of the first story. Thorkild Müller is a fascinating character because he embraces the difficulties of life. He finds happiness in a totally different place and culture (even language) from what he has known so far.

The descriptions of rural Denmark are also captivating. They render how hard life was in those times, but also how interconnected people were - with a network of complex relationships and the crushing weight of social expectations.

A must read, if you are into real-life Scandinavia - and not the fake "hygge, happiest countries in the world" trend that misrepresent the Nordics.

[Pepijn · Rating 3 out of 5]

Was expecting a story about a polar bear, but that wasn't the case. This book has two stories, a short story (The White Bear) and a novella (The Rearguard). I picked it up in London and must admit that the title and cover made me buy it.

The White Bear
Weird Danish man isn't really cut out for priesthood and gets a free vacation (read: exile) to Greenland, where he becomes a legend among eskimo people. Returns to Denmark, spreads his unorthodox ways and is bullied back to Greenland (allegedly). Very fun read, could really appreciate the protagonist.

The Rearguard
A couple, one guy a hardcore socialist, the other a hardcore socialite (no way that doesn't work out, right?) from Denmark reside in Rome. Both move around in artistic circles, but the guy can't help but alienate himself further by his extreme ideas. The back of the book suggests this is a gradual process where they wear each other down, but I disagree. The guy is a dickhead, she continues to put up with it and then dies by fainting. Archaic writing style, unlikable people, mid story. Wouldn't read again.

Verdict: 3 stars. Not bad, not good. Short story > novella, so it's completely fine to stop after the White Bear. Do recommend his other works, though; bro won the Nobel prize for literature.

[Daniel Polansky]

Two novellas from a Nobel prize winner, albeit coming from that early era when the judges seemed mostly to be reading Scandinavian literature. The eponymous is a charming tale of an idiosyncratic ursine minister who returns to a staid, small town Danish life after a life led among the Greenland inuit. The second is a remarkably facile discussion of art and politics. So, mixed, but I enjoyed reading descriptions of snow while immersed in hellish heat.

[C.Hanna · Rating 4 out of 5]

En riktigt trevlig och fängslande bok. Skildringen av Thorkild känns på något vis både orealistisk och fullkomligt naturlig, och man kan inte låta bli att svepas med i hans fantastiska liv. Hans resa till att finna sig själv och att välja sin väg, trots att han aldrig gjort det innan var gripande. Jag fann också slutet tillfredställande, då det på något vis fortsätter hans resa som person och att välja sig själv. Att inte öppet trotsa kyrkan genom att möta biksopen, utan istället lämna meddelandet och välja sig själv, må möjlitgvis vara det största motståndet han kunnat göra. För övrigt måste även säga att jag uppskattar att grönländarna skildrades mindre rasistiskt än jag hade förväntat mig från en bok från det tidiga 1900-talet.

[Gardenia · Rating 4 out of 5]

- The White Bear was fantastic.

-- While reading The Rearguard it felt like I was just interacting at surface level with the story. The translator's notes transformed this story into something deeper since I was not familiar with the Merman legend (Agnes and the Merman).

[shoobeshu · Rating 5 out of 5]

my first Pontoppidan! so glad i picked this up because i may have found another author to add to my S-tier list. i'm too lazy to write a detailed review of both novellas, so this will do for now.
> The White Bear: 5/5
> The Rearguard: 4.9/5 (rounded up to a 5)