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176 pages, ebook
First published June 21, 2016
10. Took in the bottle of wine the neighbor had placed on my mat:
11. Excuse the noise, Love, Majbritt, it said; so that's her name, I thought,
12. and set the bottle on top of the fridge,
13. moved it under the sink,
14. I'll drink it for Pentecost,
15. for Pentecost when I'm happy,
16. really happy.
16. Chopped lettuce without cutting my finger
17. and decided that perhaps in time something good
would happen. I do know that something will, I know
it, like when you're riding a train across Zealand in
winter:
18. darkness darkness darkness darkness
19 and then suddenly a greenhouse crackling warm
20. in the middle of it all.
minna's broken heart dwells in the breast of an optimist.danish author dorthe nors is a most curious and innovative writer. if that wasn't evident in her short story collection, karate chop (the first of her books to be translated into english), surely the two stylistically inventive novellas in her new work, so much for that winter (minna mangler et ovelokale / dage), will make it abundantly clear. composed of two different pieces, "minna needs rehearsal space" and "days," nors's latest book to be rendered from the danish, despite what at first glance might seem like a sterile, dispassionate style, offers a rich, lively, and emotionally fertile glimpse of two women wending their way through hardship.
minna is suddenly unsure.in the longer of the two entries, "minna needs rehearsal space," nors employs a series of one sentence "headlines" to convey the story of her titular character—newly single (and broken up with via text message)—as she contends with frustration, loneliness, an overbearing sister, and successful friends. with bach and bergman by her (figurative) side, minna sets off for an island repose and emotional convalescence. nors's staccato "headlines," many no more than a few words each, inexplicably coalesce into a resonant, believable, and somewhat melancholy narrative. from the onset, it seemed unlikely to be successful, but "minna needs rehearsal space" is wonderfully alive, with minna's character both convincing and credible.
the song disappeared, down toward the bottom.
the song stands still among the herring.
everything else belongs to another reality.
everything else, minna thinks to herself, is mere geography.
9. thought that the worst thing about the things that change us for life, is that every day we have to persuade ourselves not to look at them and how they attest to the insignificance with which we're shuffled around, we're lost and found and lost again,the shorter piece, "days," is a diary-like record made up of numbered lists. the thirty-something woman at the heart of this novella is introspective and full of emotions, but also constantly reminding herself that days elapse and the promise of happiness is contingent upon her keeping going. i'm not sure how or why numbered lists (like the "headlines" before them) work so well in evoking and evincing, but they do, often to remarkable effect.
15. and it isn't that i don't believe in the good in others.so much for that winter is uniquely composed, yet eminently readable. nors's experimental style permits a sidelong glance, not only into perhaps the scaffolding upon which stories are built, but also the spaces between things—much as a painting or song reveals itself in the interims between brushstrokes or notes. dorthe nors is doing some fascinating work and her chosen forms function as fictional facades, ably demonstrating that feeling may flourish in even the most unlikely of prose techniques.
16. it's that the others don't believe in the good in me.
10. biked through the city, just one person on wheels among thousands of others on the way home to their own, exhausted and holding every conceivable unshareable thing inside,
11. rubbed the skins off new potatoes
12. and set the grasses in a vase on the counter,
13. thought of blackbirds and other singing creatures,
14. of all there's been, and tomorrow,
15. of my obligations, my dreams, my dusty sandals,
16. and then that which despite everything still calls,
17. come.
Minna and Karin took a class together.
Karin latched onto Minna.
Minna is somewhat of a host species.
1. Woke an hour early
2. made instant coffee,
3. drank it,
4. stood by my kitchen window the same way I stood by my kitchen window when I lived on the island of Fanø and went down to the beach every day and crushed razor shells underfoot: Why do I live here? I’d wondered
5. and couldn’t have known that one day I would stand in a flat in Valby and look at the crooked tulips in the backyard and wonder the same thing.