Ambasadorius

by Bragi Ólafsson

1991-ųjų vasarį, kai Lietuvoje pradėti stiklinti balkonai, mažytė ir drąsi Islandija pirmoji pripažino atkurtą Lietuvos Respubliką. Kaip tik tada tarp mūsų tautų įsižiebė neblėstanti meilė. Jai paliudyti po 15-os metų Islandija į mūsų šalį atsiuntė orų ir ištikimą savo sūnų – rašytoją, poetą Bragį Ólafssoną...

Autoriaus alter ego – poetas Sturdla Jounsonas pakviečiamas į „Poetinio Druskininkų rudens“ festivalį atstovauti Islandijai. Parašęs straipsnį apie tai, kokie absurdiški būna poezijos festivaliai, jis atvyksta į Lietuvą. Ir tai – tik jo bėdų pradžia. Dingsta lietpaltis, tuo metu tėvynėje kyla skandalas – poetas apkaltinamas plagijavimu! O dar visi tie keistuoliai (įskaitant, aišku, ir rašytojus), kuriuos Sturdla sutinka Lietuvoje... Groteskiški pusamžio islando nuotykiai mūsų šalyje palydimi ironiškomis įžvalgomis apie kūrybą, senėjimą, šeimą, meilę. Šis B. Ólafssono kūrinys 2008-aisiais pelnė geriausio Islandijos romano apdovanojimą.

Bragi Ólafssonas gimė 1962 m. Reikjavike. Jis – žinomas rašytojas ir vertėjas, ne kartą nominuotas Šiaurės šalių literatūros premijoms, taip pat muzikantas, bosine gitara grojęs su grupe „The Sugarcubes“, kurioje karjerą pradėjo avangardiškoji Björk. Rašytojas yra dirbęs įvairiausių darbų: pašte, banke, įrašų parduotuvėje, įkūrė leidyklą „Blogas skonis“ (Smekkleysa). Mėgsta svečiuotis Lietuvoje.

Tikrai niekas nepaneigs, kad tai – pats geriausias romanas apie Lietuvos poezijos festivalius. Tai talentingai parašytas, keistai ironiškas pasakojimas. Margaspalviame romane persipina kultūrinės abiejų šalių aktualijos, bohemos įpročiai ir šmirinėja pražuvusio angliško lietpalčio savininkas...

Genres: Fiction, Travel

322 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 2006

About the author

Bragi studied Spanish at the University of Iceland and the University of Granada. He has had a number of different jobs in Reykjavík, at the post office, in a bank and in a record store. He was also a member of the Sugarcubes, and toured with them in Europe and America.
Bragi's first published work, the poetry collection Dragsúgur (Draught), appeared in 1986. Since then, he has published other books of poetry, short story collections, plays and novels. His first novel, Hvíldardagar (Days of Repose) was nominated for the Icelandic Literary Prize in 1999 and the next one, Gæludýrin (The Pets) also in 2001. He received the DV Cultural Prize for the novel Samkvæmisleikir (Party Games) in 2004 and his novel Sendiherrann (The Ambassador) was nominated for the Nordic Council's Literature Prize in 2008.
Bragi is one of the founders of the publishing company Smekkleysa (Bad Taste) which has mostly put out music and organised various kinds of events.

Reviews

[Asta · Rating 3 out of 5]

Parašyta gerai, bet iš tų knygų, kurių nebūtina skaityti.

Smagu atpažinti vietas - Vilniaus Senamiestis, šiek tiek Druskininkų.
Personažas nesimpatiškas ir laaaaabai daug geria. Alus, tada alus ir šalia vyšnių brendis, tada pakartojimas. Ir taip per dieną daug kartų.

Tikėjausi daugiau apie Druskininkus ir "Poetinio Druskininkų rudens" festivalį. Bet juk nebūtina gerti didelėje kompanijoje. Galima truputį su poetais, o didžiąją dalį vienam, kad ir viešbučio kambaryje - piktinantis, kad mini baro nepapildo.
Jei personažas būtų vykęs ne į Lietuvą, o į kokią nelabai pažįstamą šalį, tai turbūt knyga gerokai mažiau patikusi būtų.

[Auguste · Rating 1 out of 5]

I recommend you not wasting your time on this pointless book. I've finished it just because I went too far hoping it'll get better, hoping I'll find at least one thing that'll grasp my interest. If the author's goal was to make the reader despise the main character that much that he couldn't finish the book, then congrats - he has succeeded. I've read enough novels where the main character is a WRITER, ALCHOHOLOC, trivial sick narcissist with OCDs and other disorders. I don't care how well it might be written but I've had enough. Will go to read some good old children's literature to throw this fellow Sturdla from my head.
P.S. I'm pretty sure this book was translated to Lithuanian just because a part of it is set in Lithuania.

[Jasmine · Rating 5 out of 5]

First, I want to say thank you to the guy who knows Karen that I have never met who gave her this book. I think his name is Chad. Thank you Chad.

One of the really great things about Karen and greg is that when people give them free books they go out of the way to get these people nice reviews of these books. Back in the day when Zweig was floating around, Greg gave it to me after he was done with it because he was hoping that I might like it a bit more and have something nice to say about it, I am not sure what he got what he wanted but it was a good effort. And on the off chance he ever finds the right person the book is still in the desk here to be given to someone new. Yeah... i think he might just not want it near his other books.But back to Iceland (in german iceland is written island, no kidding look at the german version's summary). Last week I came in and Karen told me that she had forgotten to tell me she had a copy of this book from "Chad" (if I have his name right). Clearly this was a good way for her to get this book a nice rating, since she knew that not only did I love the author but that I had been waiting very impatiently for this book's publication in October. So she kills two birds with one stone, she gets Chad a nice review and she makes me happy. This is why people should continue to give Karen and Greg free books, they are good people who try very hard to be helpful.

Now lets talk about this book. It has so far not gotten very good reviews but it is a very good book. Solidly a high four stars. It would be five no contest but I like his other book better. I know, I know I gave it five stars but I really want it to have a higher average rating.

The only other review of this book says that they didn't like the ending... No one likes how bragi ends books except for me, probably cause he doesn't really feel the need to end books. I mean unlike pets a lot of stuff actually happens to the character in this book and he never hides under a bed, at least never literally. Figuratively speaking he really spends most of the book hiding under the bed. I don't know that he even necessarily comes out from under the bed (I don't actually remember if the character in pets ever comes out from under the bed either). Here anyy time something happens the character hides or leaves or lies. clearly bragi is just not a confrontational kind of guy, I respect that. I am not that kind of guy either.

Bragi is the kind of guy who hangs out with stuffed birds and looks hot... Don't believe me do an image search.

The only problem I had with this book is that it felt culture bound. To live in the type of country that sends people to poetry festivals in lithuania for free this is not something I personally understand. They also left some icelandic chapter titles, there could be a good reason for this but since I don't speak icelandic I don't know. The names were very icelandic, do you know that it is almost impossible to tell if someone is male or female from their name in iceland? at least I can't. And then I mean poetry that is just another world. So I mean it is a bit tough for me to be constantly drowning in all these worlds I am not a part of.

What I liked about the book but everyone will whine about is the distance. There isn't really an emotional angle to the book. Considering that he stole his dead cousin's poems (this is obvious early in the book) the main character is reasonably unaffected by this. basically the opposite of the tell tale heart. Perhaps he is a sociopath, and he wins at that. He is also a mildly delusional sociopath, but he tends to get what he wants. I have to say he is one of my favorite characters ever, not unlike the guy who throws the party in the book pets.



***********************************************************
This is my favorite icelandic author! yes I am geeky enough to have a favorite icelandic author. He translated paul auster into icelandic, this is like claro translating danielwinski into french. If I didn't already love them both that would clearly make them sex worthy. And Karen gets hugs and upstocks for loaning me this book before it is even available. The only good thing that happened today.

[Arvena · Rating 2 out of 5]

...arba islando alkoholiko plagiatoriaus vagišiaus nuotykiai Lietuvoje. Bragi Olafssonas su šykščiu šiaurietišku humoru pasakoja savojo alter ego Sturdlos Jouno kelius ir klystkelius atvykus Poetinį Druskininkų rudenį. Teisybės dėlei verta pasakyti, kad Sturdla PDR'e pasistengia dalyvauti visiškai minimaliai - bet už tai išsamiai nupasakojamas jo vakaras viename Vilniaus striptizo barų.

Knyga tarsi turėtų būti juokinga, bet sunku ją tokia pavadinti. Joje į vieną susiplaka nuolatinis Sturdlos alkoholio vartojimas, bodėjimasis poezijos festivaliais ir jų dalyvių niekinimas jų net akyse nemačius, sudėtingai skambantys Reikjaviko gatvių pavadinimai ir islandiški vardai, iš kurių pusė yra Jounai. Per menkai atskleistas ir todėl gal nelabai dėsningai pasibaigia Sturdlos ryšys su baltaruse Lilija - ar tai reikėtų priimti kaip poetiškų sielų simpatiją ir "meilę nuo pirmos eilutės" (na, ne meilę, bet tiek jau to). Ir kam jau kam, bet gal ne islandams Druskininkus vadinti kaimu - net jei tik juokais.

Galima pagirti, kad į pakankamai trumpą - tiek apimties, tiek paties pasakojimo apimamo laiko prasme - gana grakščiai įpinta Sturdlos tėvų istorija. Kita vertus, pats faktas, kad Sturdla - penkių vaikų tėvas ir ištisas pasažas, skirtas nupasakoti, ką kuris iš jo palikuonių veikia ar kuo domisi, bedram siužetui neturi labai didelės įtakos.

Aišku, labiausiai intriguojantis šios knygos kabliukas - tai, kad didžioji dalis veiksmo vyksta Lietuvoje, na, užsieniečio požiūris į mūsų šalį ir t.t. ir pan., gal ir prideda kokią pusę balo prie bendro įvertinimo (nes, ko gero, jei tai būtų pasakojimas apie islandą, nuvykusį į kokį nors poezijos festivalį Lenkijoje, Suomijoje, Latvijoje, Estijoje, Baltarusijoje - būtų kažkaip vienodai), tačiau tai vis tik neišgelbsti gerokai nuobodaus pasakojimo ir neužkabinančio pagrindinio personažo - ar, tuo labiau, atraplanių veikėjų, kurie paprastai pristatomi per Sturdlos vertinimo prizmę.

Knygoje yra kelios vertimo ir stiliaus klaidos, bet jų nėra daug, tad akių labai smarkiai nebado.

[Alexis · Rating 3 out of 5]

This reminded me a bit of The Elegance of the Hedgehog in that I hated the character and wasn't sure if the author expected me to like them. In this case, I decided by the end that the author intended for the character to be a loser, so I gave it 3 stars.

[Aurelija Jeleniauskaitė · Rating 1 out of 5]

I really try to finish books despite how bad they are. But this...After 20 pages, I simply could not continue. No offense to the writer but it is...boring.. No dialogue, no action..Maybe writer tried something similar like Marcel Proust yet it did not work...Not my cup of tea. Not worth even a star, gave 1 just out of pity.

[Susan · Rating 3 out of 5]

I really struggled to read and finish this book, having liked previous books by this author. Though I did finish it, I never did find my way to appreciating it
No one very likable, actions rather meaningless. Some interesting poetry and thoughts about poetry and narrative fiction.

[Gunnar Hjalmarsson · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ljóðskáld í ruglinu í Litháen. Sniðugt og gaman. Nú redda ég mér hinum bókunum hans á bókasafninu með snatri.

[A. · Rating 1 out of 5]

I could not summon the energy to finish this. I might have even liked it, but it didn't grab me enough to finish it and life is too short to trudge through books you're not invested in.

[Larissa · Rating 4 out of 5]

Review here: http://thesecondpass.com/?p=6748

***

Full text of Second Pass review:

After a recent reading in a small, internationally stocked New York bookstore, Icelandic author Bragi Ólafsson prepared to answer questions from the audience about his newly translated novel, The Ambassador. But rather than asking about the novel, or a previous novel (The Pets, published in the U.S. in 2008), or his prose style and writing inspiration, or even his former gig as the bassist in The Sugarcubes (a band fronted by Björk), the audience put him in the awkward position of providing a complex overview of the entire nation of Iceland — its history, relationship with Europe, and the collective feelings and opinions of its 320,000 inhabitants. Some of these questions veered toward the literary: one participant asked for a summary of the state of all Icelandic fiction, as well as an update on the popularity of crime fiction within mainland Scandinavian countries such as Sweden. Another was curious as to how the current economic crisis was affecting Icelandic poets — “Are they isolated? Are they upset?” This took the conversation to a more purely financial place, with other guests asking Bragi (Icelanders don’t go by their last names, which are patronymic, even in formal contexts) to summarize the events that led to the downfall of the Icelandic banking system, and what, if anything, could be done to resolve the situation.

Bragi answered each inquiry with remarkable civility, but it seems comically appropriate that a reading for The Ambassador would both force the author to become an impromptu emissary for his country and so quickly devolve into absurdity. Bragi is a master of the straight-faced farce, the simple situation that becomes suddenly and astonishingly convoluted. This was showcased to great effect in The Pets, in which the main character, Emil Halldorsson, spends the entirety of the novel hiding under his bed while an unwanted guest breaks into his home, drinks his imported liquor, and invites his friends over for a party.

As a rule, Bragi’s characters do not attend to social mores or banal niceties. They actively defy them, forcing anyone they come into contact with (including the reader) to negotiate an entirely unfamiliar brand of social interaction — one bereft of expected politeness, full of bumbling awkwardness and a host of errant choices that compound as the novel progresses. It’s part of what makes his work so engaging. As he explained prior to his reading, “It’s not very interesting to describe nice people.”

The Ambassador opens during a shopping trip to an upscale men’s clothing store in Reykjavik. Sturla Jón Jónsson, a fiftyish building super and published poet, is purchasing an expensive “English-style Aquascutum overcoat” that he’s coveted for quite some time. He’s bought the coat just in time for an upcoming trip to a poetry festival in Lithuania. As his departure nears, Sturla Jón has had a spate of good fortune: not only has he been selected the sole representative from Iceland at the festival, he’s also just published a new volume of poetry and won almost 10,000 kronur in the university-run gambling hall.

Almost immediately upon arriving in Vilnius, however, he finds out he has been publicly outed in Iceland for plagiarizing unpublished poems by his deceased cousin. Shortly after, his prized overcoat is stolen in a restaurant. Both events precipitate increasingly outlandish behavior on Sturla Jón’s part. To replace his lost garment, he steals an expensive overcoat from a different restaurant, only to find out that the man he robbed is a prominent American benefactor of the poetry festival. When one of the organizers accuses him of the theft, Sturla Jón abandons the event altogether, opting to hide out under an assumed name in a Vilnius boarding house.

Much bubbles under the surface of this seemingly simple, comic story of petty theft and a literary festival gone awry. The Ambassador is awash with Sturla Jón’s drifting and tangential memories, each adding an additional layer of nuanced development to his character and his complicated relationships. We’re introduced to his father, an aspiring filmmaker and librarian who is only 15 years older than his son. Sturla Jón’s mother, an unstable alcoholic, has recently taken up posing topless for local artists. His talented young cousin, Jónas, killed himself only days after promising to give Sturla Jón the manuscript for his first book of poems. There’s even a crossover character from The Pets, a teacher named Armann Valur. The rich back story and well-realized secondary characters add a fullness to the narrative, and a sense of Sturla Jón’s deeply interconnected community at home.

Perhaps the most productive recurrent theme in The Ambassador is creation, the question of to whom a creative idea, artistic product, or particularly powerful turn of phrase belongs — if it belongs to anyone at all. As it turns out, Sturla Jón is entirely surrounded by other authors and artists, not only his fellow poets at the festival. Before he’s left Iceland, several strangers and acquaintances — the man who sells him his overcoat, a neighbor in his apartment building — reveal that they, too, are artists of some stripe. Arriving in Lithuania, Sturla Jón shares a table with a Russian man at a strip club who is writing a novel, and a cab with a woman who is also a poet. His coat is later stolen (he believes) by a street musician playing Rod Stewart covers. “[P]eople everywhere around him seemed to have a need to tell him about their own desire to create,” Bragi writes. And for his part, Sturla Jón absorbs all of this creative output, internalizes it, and makes it his own.

Bragi complicates the ethical questions of authorship and plagiarism. Sturla Jón is an avid reader, for whom inspirational quotations, powerful metaphors, and particularly vivid images create a backdrop to all of life. He is constantly recalling lines of poetry, song lyrics, or descriptions that seem so apt, so perfect in describing his own experience that he feels as if he could have written them. Here, he is waiting at a bus station in Lithuania:

"He remembers a quotation he noted down in his black notebook shortly before leaving Iceland, a quotation he’d come across by chance . . . in a book which contained the musings of poets on their duty to explain the meaning of their poems. And when he opens his notebook as he sits there on the hard wooden bench outside the bus station . . . he feels as if these words by the English poet Donald Davie, published in 1959, are his own . . . [Y]ou could easily convince yourself that it was pure coincidence that they’d been printed in a book in England before Sturla’s handwriting had fixed the lines in a black notebook."

Haven’t most authors — and most readers — had a similar experience when first coming across a resonant line or passage? The Ambassador isn’t interested in wrapping up any debates about plagiarism — or any of Sturla Jón’s offbeat misadventures. It relishes the journey, and offers plenty of unexpected insights and ironic humor along the way.

[Anneli · Rating 4 out of 5]

Esialgu oli keeruline saada kontakti keskealise luulejataga, kes teeb pidevalt midagi, mida ei peaks tegema. Aga need kelmikad väiksed märkused... Ja lõpuks käitub peategelane risti vastupidi sellele, milline mulje temast on loodud. Kaval raamat.

[Arnljótur Bergsson · Rating 3 out of 5]

Eylítið tyrfin fyrir einstakling fjarri Fróni sem komst samt í gegnum textann vegna þorsta í íslensku.

[Amy · Rating 5 out of 5]

Translated from the Icelandic by Lytton Smith






It’s tough being a poet. First, there’s the whole stereotype of the cerebral, tortured artist who offers the world little but obscure verses. Then your Dad starts doing the passive-aggressive thing and slights your work whenever he can. Your son calls your career a ‘hobbyhorse’. You get no respect.




This is the world for Sturla Jon, a sucessful poet from Iceland. He’s tough, sarcastic, and is finding it hard to even respect himself anymore. He still writes poetry, but since he’s hit fifty, he wants to do something more. Novels, maybe. He’s dissatisfied with most of his life, and it’s starting to show:




“In Sturla’s opinion, there is an irony to this that results from a deception the poet himself perpetrates: when it comes down to it, his value is only ever evident from the price tag on the book…”




And to make one big step away from the starving artist that he imagines typical poets to be, he goes out and buys a top-notch overcoat, high style and big money. He’s old-fashioned, and decides the cell phone pocket will be perfect for his cigarettes. That one detail shows a great deal about him: he isn’t fitting in with the times.




“One moment Sturla feels there is depth and purpose to his writing but the next…he, the poet, starts to think that he can’t see anything in the production of poetry but emptiness and the surface emotion that still lifes offer: more or less beautiful textures, at best, things better suited to being the subject of a watercolor on the wall of a room.”




So with this new overcoat, and an invitation to a poetry festival in Lithuania, he makes a new plan. He’s going to move towards an experimental form of literature, and 'review' the events of the festival before it even happens. His cynical and disparaging review reflects all the clichés of poetry, and poetry festivals in general. Bad food, terrible lodging, and worse, pretentious poets who take themselves far too seriously than he thinks they deserve. His caustic review makes him feel fresh and innovative, and he leaves for Lithuania with low expectations.




However, despite the fact he condemns the poet’s lifestyle as often as possible, it’s revealing that he still wants to go. Why not just skip it? This is one of the complicating facets to Sturla: he’s not really sure what he wants to be, and at his age, it’s hard to change. His life is full of contradictions: he wins money (that he doesn't need) at a slot machine when he’s just killing time, and his aging father gets more attention from the ladies than he does. While he works part-time as a building superintendent (possibly the diametric opposite of a poet), he likes to hint to people that he’s a published poet. Who is the real Sturla?




Only in Lithuania does Sturla even begin to understand just how he fits in, and his exploits there are terrifying, frantic, and sometimes slapstick. He realizes that his “predicted” review is not only wrong, but almost criminally so.




Lest this sound too serious, keep in mind that Sturla is possibly one of the funniest characters I’ve run across. He’s snarky and witty, and throughout the narrative there is a remarkable amount of humor as he pokes fun at himself, his family, and most of all, the literary world. The author, Bragi Olafsson, writes Sturla as the least expected poetic figure: needy yet badass, sensitive but acerbic, and always unpredictable.




The book in whole is more comedic than serious. Yet it also gives a unique glimpse into the world of literature and translation, cultural disparities, and historical influences that define a geographic location. I loved the little things that make Sturla a real person: the way he’s annoyed by his Dad’s constant calls on the new cell phone he finally gets, his simple desire to just get a cup of decent coffee, and the way he mentally rehearses little remarks to himself to get them right. Additionally, Olafsson hints at the need for poetry and literature as a means of dealing with the contradictions and complexities we all face.

[Christopher Litsinger · Rating 3 out of 5]

I probably shouldn't have read this right after reading the abortion, but doing so did make me realize the similarity between Ólafsson's style and Richard Braughtigan.
That aside, the book didn't connect with me much. Largely a criticism of the arts community (and specifically the poetry community), it's often hard to tell where the ironic detachment lets up - maybe it never does. If you're looking to read an Icelandic book, this probably isn't the place to start, although it did seem to win an awful lot of awards.

[Chinoiseries · Rating 2 out of 5]

Sturla Jón, the anti-hero protagonist, is a man who has gone through a lot in his life. His parents are long separated, his mother an alcoholic, he divorced in a distant past and his five children are estranged from him. I cannot say for sure whether one should pity him for the unfortunate events that have befallen him, or that he is simply as an island onto himself. Perhaps that makes him the perfect ambassador for Iceland? (Not really. His conduct and character are hardly appropriate for a representative of one’s country). (Further review here)

[JBP · Rating 2 out of 5]

I wanted to like this one as I don't read many books from Icelandic writers, but this was just dull. Not much happens really and whilst I'm not one of those needy readers who needs a lot of whiz bang in my plot, I don't, I do need a little more going on than is given with The Ambassador. Huge sections of this, nothing happens! Maybe that's the intention of Olafsson? Bombard us with the mundane, little moments of this 51 year old guy who buys a new overcoat, talks to his father, has conversations about his poetry and goes to Lithuania to a poetry festival. I just found it dull.

[Blaine · Rating 3 out of 5]

I'll be honest: I skimmed the last third. But I don't think I should have had to read more than half the book to get to a plot point described on the back cover, especially since there aren't any other tensions to maintain the reader's interest in the book. By the time I got to the accusation (like I said, it's on the cover), I could see that there wouldn't be much more return on my investment of time. The translation reads nicely, though, and seems to indicate solid literary development on the part of the author. I'm willing to keep an eye out for the next effort.

[Lisa Hayden Espenschade · Rating 4 out of 5]

A funny-but-sad look at the life of an Icelandic poet who is ostensibly representing his country at a Lithuanian poetry conference. The Ambassador has many threads to pick: I enjoyed following the influence of Gogol's "Overcoat."

The Ambassador is on my blog here.

[Chad Post · Rating 4 out of 5]

DISCLAIMER: I am the publisher of the book and thus spent approximately two years reading and editing and working on it. So take my review with a grain of salt, or the understanding that I am deeply invested in this text and know it quite well. Also, I would really appreciate it if you would purchase this book, since it would benefit Open Letter directly.

[Tara · Rating 4 out of 5]

Most people who don't like this book have complained that it has no plot. True enough. If you're willing to forgive the author this eccentricity, though, you might find yourself enjoying his strange (yet familiar) characters and wonderful sense of the absurd.

[Rob Christopher · Rating 3 out of 5]

The ending is a bit of a let down, but this novel is oddly endearing. And hard to put down.

[Michael · Rating 5 out of 5]

Really funny understated humor at the expense of writers and poets. It was interesting to see an Icelandic perspective on the rest of the Baltic.

[Hector · Rating 4 out of 5]

It is an odd book. Think of this as an indie movie. If you are looking for some sweeping conflict. This is not the book for you.

[Kit · Rating 4 out of 5]

really fun.