Miasteczko w Islandii

by Guðmundur Andri Thorsson

Opowieść o mieszkańcach małego miasteczka, ludziach z krwi i kości, szczerych i prostych, których codzienność może i jest brutalna i surowa, ale przecież to co największe i najlepsze w życiu przejawia się w rzeczach najmniejszych. 16 opowieści, ściśle ze sobą powiązanych, każda dzieje się w czasie dwóch (tych samych) minut. Tyle wystarczy, żeby poczuć codzienność ich życia – czasem twardego i szarego, lecz po prostu zachwycającego. W małym miasteczku ścieżki życia mieszkańców przeplatają się ze sobą i choć wszyscy świetnie się znają, nikt tak naprawdę nie wie, co kryje się w głowie sąsiada i zakamarkach jego pamięci. W tej książce atmosfera Islandii jest wyczuwalna na każdym kroku.

Genres: Fiction, Scandinavian Literature, Translated Fiction, Contemporary, Short Stories, Novella, Ebooks

192 pages, Hardcover

First published October 1, 2011

About the author

Guðmundur Andri Thorsson was born in Reykjavík on December 31st 1957. He graduated from M.S. high school in 1978 and with a B.A. degree in Icelandic and comparative literature from The University of Iceland in 1983. He did his Cand.mag studies at the same school from 1983 - 1985.

Guðmundur Andri worked as a journalist and literary critic at DV newspaper and Þjóðviljinn for some time and has for years hosted his own radio program, Andrarímur, at The Icelandic National Radio. He was editor of literary journal Tímarit Máls og menningar from 1986 - 1989 and again from 2009. He also worked as an editor for Mál og menning publishing house (later Edda) from 1987 - 2004. Guðmundur Andri plays the guitar and sings with his companions in the band Hinir ástsælu Spaðar.

Guðmundur Andri's first novel, Mín káta angist, was published in 1988 and since then he has sent forward three other novels, the latest one is Náðarkraftur from 2003. He has overseen a number of books in his career, as well as translating fiction by foreign authors, among them the novels A Short History of Tractors in Ukranian andTwo Caravans by Marina Lewycka. Guðmundur Andri has written a large number of articles on culture and social issues in newspapers and magazines, some of them appeared in his book Ég vildi að ég kynni að dansa (I Wish I Could Dance), published in 1998. He received the DV Cultural Prize for Literature for his novel Íslenski draumurinn in 1991. The book was also nominated for The Icelandic Literature Prize in the same year. The novel Íslandsförin var nominated for the same prize in 1996.

Reviews

[Paul Fulcher · Rating 4 out of 5]

Guðmundur Andri Thorsson's Valeyrarvalsinn (literally The Waltz of Valeyri) was nominated for the
2013 Nordic Council's Literature Prize, eventually losing out to Kim Leine's Profeterne i Evighedsfjorden, which, translated as The Prophets of Eternal Fjord, was also shortlisted for the 2017 International DUBLIN Literary Award (my review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...).

Valeyrarvalsinn has been translated from Icelandic into English, as 'And The Winds Sees All' (bugbear alert - I really wish publisher/translators wouldn't change titles), by Andrew Cauthery and Björg Árnadóttir, an interesting translation duo who work together on translations in both directions (e.g. an Icelandic version of Wind in the Willows).

And it has been published by the wonderful small independent publisher Peirene Press, who have the strapline Contemporary European Literature. Thought-provoking, well designed, short, as part of their 2018 “Home in Exile” series alongside the very worthy Soviet Milk and Shadows on the Tundra.

The author's own explanation of the novel is worth reading (from http://www.islit.is/media/pdf/Fabulou... when the novel was being promoted for translation):

“I am an advocate of small literary forms, and the short story cycle is a particularly fascinating one.
..
The idea is that each story should be able to stand on its own as a traditional short story, but can simultaneously be seen as part of the larger picture. The stories reference each other in various ways: One story gets a brand-new ending later in the book; a character makes a phone call, and in a later story we hear the particulars of the call. One story ends with a fly zipping out of a window, but another one starts with a fly coming in through a window. Taken as a whole, these stories are all part of one overarching narrative: the story of the village of Valeyri, of which the reader should be able to piece together a mental image.

A friend of mine gave me Sherwood Anderson's Winesburg, Ohio years ago, telling me I should translate it, it would be right up my alley. I was noncommittal at the time. But maybe The Waltz of Valeyri is that translation, after all!”

Set in the Icelandic fishing community (population 2000) of Valeyri, around 2010, the novel opens:

The mist. It comes off the sea and slides along the spit. Every summer's day. it creeps up the fjord as evening approaches, noses around the slopes and foothills and slips into the village, where it curls around the boats in the harbour and licks the corners of the houses, before lifting itself upwards just enough for me to be able to peep through people's windows.

I see the secrets, I see the people cooking, peeing, pottering or skulking about. Some weep, some listen, some stare. I see people silent, or screaming into their pillows. I see people throwing out rubbish and useless memories, and I do not look away. I never look away. I see all.

The identity of the narrator here (who isn't 'the wind' of the English title) is only made clear in the closing chapter.

The blurb on the back reads: 'Relaxing Nordic hygge in a novel: the entire story takes place in two minutes', neither clause of which is really accurate.

The organising principle of the stories that follow is indeed based around a two minute bike journey undertaken by Kata (known as 'Kata Choir - most of the characters have been bestowed with similar nicknames) to the village hall, where she will lead the local choir in a concert. And the different chapters take us through the stories of many of the villagers that she encounters on her ride, or are preparing for the concert, but the stories themselves roam into their different, and often troubled, pasts.

It is fascinating to see also how the different stories fit together as characters reappear, events from the past mentioned in one story are explained in another. As one of the residents whose family have lived their since the village was founded, in the late 19th century, ponders: You spend half your life trying to find out things about yourself that the village already knows about you when you are born.

As for 'relaxing Nordic hygge': to me the book only really gets into its stride when we move past the more bucolic descriptions of the village and some of the stories take a darker turn: for example we later learn, as a visitor queries Kata's identity, of the disturbing story of how she came, not by choice, from Eastern Europe to the village. And the post-financial crisis setting starts to become more relevant, as for example we get to stories of leveraged banking loans against the value of fishing quotas, and foreign currency mortgages, both of which spell disaster for both borrower and lender.

The blend of modern and traditional is beautifully done:

The village has its own history, its characters, its legends. The characters and legends have long since gone, and all that is left are people and events. Reverend Sæmunder sometimes says in his sermons that the village “is beyond the world and all the perils thereof”. Smyrill the poet on the other hand always says [...] that the village is the world in a nutshell. Neither is true. The world is blessed with a million nuances of human life that can not be found in Valeyri. And as attested to by the rooftop satellite dishes, the SUVs on the streets, the graffiti on the buildings, the young people's wanderlust, the Polish migrant workers and the Asian women in the fish factory who keep the local economy going, Valeyri is immeasurably far from being 'beyond the world' or not needing it at all. The world buys the fish that is caught by the ships registered here.

And even though the revenue from fishing doesn't all end up here- who knows, maybe only a tiny part of it does - Lára Lár, and latterly her son, Jói, have always taken great care to ensure that their crews include local seaman, and have kept fish processing going all year round.

This doesn't displace Jón Kalman Stefánsson's stunning Himnaríki og helvíti trilogy as my favourite Icelandic writing, but highly worthwhile.

Peirene had an incredible run of 6 consecutive longlist places for the Independent Foreign Fiction / Man Booker International Prize with 2016: White Hunger, 2015: The Dead Lake, 2014: The Mussel Feast, 2013: The Murder of Halland, 2012: Next World Novella, 2011: Beside the Sea, particularly impressive as they only published 3 such books each year. They missed out in 2017 and 2018, but I very much hope to see them back on the list in 2019.

[Jola · Rating 3 out of 5]

NOT BLOWN AWAY

Guðmundur Andri Thorsson’s novel falls into a category of books which I call summer rain. The delight is intense and pleasing for all your senses. Afterwards, you see the world in fresher, more vibrant colours. Everything looks and smells anew. Unfortunately, it lasts only for a while and leaves bland memories, if any at all. That is exactly what my reading experience with And the Wind Sees All (2011) looked like.

The author takes us on a trip to Valeryi, a fictional village in Iceland, picturesquely situated at the sea. The people we meet here face various problems, rooted in their past. We gradually get to know them and their foibles, some secrets included. Even the ones they would not dare to reveal to themselves. The clamp, that joins separate life stories, is the local choir which the characters belong to.


Louisa Matthiasdottir, Icelandic Village

Music plays an important role in And the Wind Sees All, not only because of the choir. The structure of this novel made me think of a fugue. It develops contrapuntally, with a few themes embodied by the characters, who appear and disappear after a while, then they return and vanish later on.

Like in Bach’s The Art of the Fugue we follow a few simultaneously sounding melodic lines. Each character’s story creates such a line. These lines join for a while, then they separate, then merge again. And how smoothly and imperceptibly this polyphony works! The only thing that bothers me - although it might be pure coincidence - is its similarity to Plainsong by Kent Haruf, who also portrayed a village community via intertwining individual stories, with musical allusions.


Grażyna Smalej, Choir I

Thorsson’s choice of the narrator is truly unique. Interestingly, it is the wind that - as the title suggests – sees it all: 'I come in off the sea and slide along the spit, and soon I will have vanished with the mist. I am the afternoon breeze; I visit at around half past four and an hour later slip away to my dwelling, made of the past: of the grass that stirred a moment ago, the dandelion seeds that have floated to a new place, the folds of Kata’s dress as she cycles down Strandgata on her way to the village hall.' The wind is not only a compassionate observer. He calls himself a consciousness.

And the Wind Sees All is a moving elegy about transience, about the time, people and things lost irretrievably: 'Moments remain in the mind, while days pass, weeks pass, months pass. Seasons and years pass.' It is a book of loss, in almost all possible meanings of the word: lost hopes, lost dreams, lost feelings, lost health, lost innocence, lost people we loved and ultimately, lost life. I think evanescence is symbolized by dandelions which appear quite often in the novel.


Han Veltman, Choir

Actually, the list of topics covered is much longer – in my opinion far too long for 173 pages. When I was reading And the Wind Sees All, I envisioned the author sitting at his desk and making a list of upsetting experiences one can encounter and then weaving them in generously into the plot. To my mind, the form of this short novel was too fragile to carry such an overwhelming burden. The novel was heart-wrenching at the beginning, then imperceptibly became frustrating.

I was surprised when I read the first sentence of the editor's note, about relaxing Nordic hygge in Thorsson’s book. I have not found any. I associate hygge with uplifting, calming, pleasant things, not with piercing grief. And I am even more perplexed by the word relaxing used here: for example, child abuse and sex slavery of Eastern European women – both topics present in the novel – are quite contrary to my definition of relaxing. With all respect due to Peirene Press - I am their enthusiast! - using a fashionable buzzword on the cover, with no connection with the book, does not seem fair.


Sera Knight , Choir

Aside from the structure of this novel, another thing I liked is the author’s writing style. Undoubtfully, just like one of his characters, Guðmundur Andri Thorsson can bend words and make them dance in a wondrous way, sparkling in whichever direction he fancied. and he does it masterfully. No wonder And the Wind Sees All is more like a long prose poem than a typical novel.

I hope my review has not taken the wind out of your sails. If the novel or its characters fail you, just enjoy the literary trip to Iceland and indulge in its raw beauty. Thorsson depicts it so enticingly! Be sure not to admire the views only but listen carefully also. There might be some answers to your questions blowing in the wind.


Lyudmila Zvegintseva, South of Iceland

[Carlos]

Like a delicate veil, it slowly covers the village. Finding its way through the fjord and the highland, it blows off the port zigzagging playfully, undecided yet unperturbed, leisurely finding its pace, the right tempo of a symphony that grows blissfully, perpetuating its realm while proceeding along the surface, fondling gently the skin of the earth. It sneaks through the roads, whistling old tunes, courtly and gallant, as it approaches the houses, still at the distance, silhouettes camouflaged by the first rays of the rising sun. Laggardly wandering across long fields, advancing steadily, flying through the damp leaves and scattered logs, at long last arriving at the first house. Inhale and exhale. Through a glass, lying dormant in a cot, the hypnotic cadence of a dream. Inhale and exhale.

Moving along, the faint sound of music. As I get closer, the washing machine in the background, the lyrics praise the deeds of a house, our house with two cats in the yard. I light the fire while you put the flowers in the vase. Crosby, Stills, Nash, Young and Jósa. Yes, Jósa inside looking out. She heard something and realizes it’s just Kata cycling past the barn door. Another window another song, now its Kalli rehearsing his solo for tonight’s concert and next to him is Sidda, who made the gowns they’ll wear on stage. I then arrive at Gummi’s flat. He now lives alone, you see, since he and Begga are splitting, calling it quits after years of marriage. Next there’s Ólafur, wine glass in hand, thinking of the Dixieland band he saw yesterday in YouTube, and then it's Reverend Sæmundur downing beer after beer while playing cards online and listening to Let it Bleed by the Stones. He has four aces but knows, echoing Mick’s lyrics, that you can’t always get what you want. Another window and there’s Gugga, who surely will be at the concert with the kids, and Andrés from the museum and Óli and Sigga next to Jói and Anna. They are a unit, a molecule. More music in the distance. As I approach, I hear Teddi on guitar and skipper Guðjón on snare drum. They are quite a pair.

Solemnly, I close the book of poems by Guðmundur, the poet of poets and put it back on its place in the old bookcase. As I gaze through the window, night has fallen. There is a slight breeze, a sweet breath that caresses my cheek and comforts me. Thousands of stars cover the sky and all is calm. In my mind, like the echo of an ancient cave, the end of the poem keeps resonating, repeating ad libitum the last stanza that completely covers me as I close my eyes, and I say it slowly one last time before falling in perpetual sleep: and the wind sees all…


___

[Siv30 · Rating 4 out of 5]

לסקירה מפורטת בעברית, קישור לבלוג שלי -

https://sivi-the-avid-reader.com/ולס-...

[Rachel Louise Atkin · Rating 2 out of 5]

Nothing really happens and they talk too much about fishing

[Gumble's Yard - Golden Reviewer · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book was published by the UK small press, Peirene Press “a boutique publishing house ... committed to first class European literature in high-quality translation ... [which] only publish[es] books of less than 200 pages that can be read in the same time it takes to watch a film.

It is part of their 2018 series on “Home in Exile”: “how to find a home within oneself when the outside no longer exists”.

The first in the series was the Latvian Soviet Milk – exploring how the Soviet occupation of the Baltic plays out across mother-daughter relationships - and the second the Lithuanian Shadows on the Tundra - a remarkable but true-life and terribly harrowing tale of survival in a Soviet Gulag.

This book is Icelandic – perhaps the first book I have read from that country – it is set in a small (1000 odd population) fishing village Valeyri and takes place one midsummer’s afternoon.

The young conductor of the village choir cycles through the main street of the village on the way to prepare for a music concert that evening, and as she does (for little more than 2 minutes) we are taken to the third party point of views of those who observe and greet her on her passage and through them get a glimpse into their lives, their backstories and their interactions, as well as of the history of the village.

The village has its own history, its characteristics, its legends. The characters and legends are long gone and all that is left are people and events ……… [the local] Reverend sometimes says in his sermons that the village “is beyond the world and all the perils thereof”. Smyrill the poet … always says ….that the village is the world itself in a nutshell. Neither is true. The world is blessed with a million nuances of human life and nature that cannot be found here in Valeyri. And …… Valeyri is immeasurably far from being “beyond the world” or not needing it at all.

As the first Icelandic book I have read – I was particularly interested in those stories which captured something of Iceland-beyond-the-village and how the remarkable Icelandic credit fuelled boom and credit crisis fuelled banking crash played out in its particular way in the village.

Underlying theme in the stories include: past loves and of relationships either decaying over time or fracturing altogether; of tragedies – either known and acknowledged or unknown and secret – and the way the effect of these remains fresh many year later; the importance of music and the memories it invokes; how, in a small community, identity is defined not just by you and your actions and character but those of your family.

You spend half your life trying to find out things the village already knows about you when you were born.

The strongest such theme for me was that of an escape from the village, lives lived and reputations gained away, and then an inevitable return to home.

I particularly enjoyed how, in my view, this cycle could be said to play out on a daily basis for the fishermen. And the most poetic story and the one that I felt was central to this idea (and to many of the other common themes) was “Flying and Falling”

There’s always a certain calm as you return to the harbour . and all you have to do it to aim for the beacon … If you forget to you are lost … you run aground…. You go through the village and the beacon is your home. You go through life and the eyes of your children are your harbour lights.

Overall a classic Peirene novella, one that completes a great 2018 series and which fits perfectly into the housestyle described on the frontpage of their own website

Contemporary European Literature. Thought Provoking, well designed, short.

[Louise · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is the chocolate cake of literature. Rich and delicious. I am truly in awe of what this writer (and his translators) can do with words. A few examples:

A village is not just the movement of the surf and a life of work, the clattering of a motorboat, or dogs that lie in the sunshine with their heads on their paws. It’s not only the smell of the sea, oil, guano, life and death, the fish and the funny house names. It’s also a chronicle that moves softly through the streets, preserving an elemental image of the village created piece by piece over the course of centuries.

Her smile is unbelievably peaceful, omniscient, as if she knows all his sins and peccadilloes, his innermost thoughts, delusions and dreams, knows him beyond word and deed, and can make him stir like grass in the breeze or send him off out into the world like seeds from a dandelion clock.

The place he used to occupy in her heart is a cold, dead hollow where flowers once grew; an attic covered in cobwebs in a ruined palace; a freezer compartment where each new story of his adventures and follies, each new confession, is stored.

[Alan (the Lone Librarian rides again) Teder · Rating 5 out of 5]

Stories and Secrets of an Icelandic fishing village.
Review of the English translation paperback (2018) of the Icelandic language original Valeyrarvalsinn (The Waltz of Valeyri) (2011)

The short story novel made up of vignettes of separate households in a smaller village or town seems like fertile ground to be able to introduce a wide variety of characters in individual tales with the extra writing challenge of tying them all together into one overall story arc. However, the structure hasn't been used very often and the only classic example that comes to mind is Sherwood Anderson's Winesburg, Ohio (1919).

Some recent examples that I can think of are Jon McGregor's The Reservoir Tapes (2018) and, to some degree, the continuing series of books by Elizabeth Strout that centre on the Crosby, Maine town featured in Olive Kitteridge (2008) and presumably also in Olive, Again (2019 - not yet published as of this writing).

Guðmundur Andri Thorsson sets his short story novel in the fictional Icelandic fishing village of Valeyri. The original Icelandic title described the interactions of the inhabitants as The Waltz of Valeyri but the English translation title And the Wind Sees All focuses on the observer role introduced in the first sentence.

The tie-in story arc is that village choir conductor Kata is cycling past various households on her way to the village hall where an evening concert and celebration will take place and where most of the inhabitants will sing or join in. As she passes each window, the household observes her and this is the cue for their stories to be told. Several of the stories have secrets or unresolved questions which are not answered until several stories later. The book is also structured in a cyclical manner whereby the concluding sentence of the novel can lead you back to re-reading the beginning of the book. That is actually recommended as that 1st chapter provides an answer to a question that you may not have picked up on in your first read-through, i.e. I think the book rewards re-reading. I also think that on a re-read I would write notes on the names of characters and their roles, as there were times where I was getting a bit muddled with the unfamiliar Icelandic names (which are blessedly shortened here, but still).

Overall, I enjoyed And the Wind Sees All very much and would hope to see future translations of the author. The translation team of Andrew Cauthery and Björg Árnadóttir did an excellent job as the reading flowed very well.

Trivia and Links
This book was added to the fast growing List of Books with Fictional Characters Who Love Arvo Pärt. That is a side project of mine to document what I think is the rather uncanny phenomenon of references to the music of the popular real life Estonian classical composer Arvo Pärt appearing in fictional works.

[Sheila · Rating 3 out of 5]

I read that the title of the English translation has been changed from the original Icelandic The Waltz of the Valeyri which for me would have described this book better. The Valeyri village choir will perform this evening in the village hall, Currently Kata is cycling there and all around her people are preparing and reading themselves for the evenings performance. Everyone different, everyone's life different, everyone with their own story. And each is told for the reader. In many ways the reader feels like a voyeur, eves dropping into each home with each turn of Kata's cycles wheels.

I particularly liked Sveni's story entitled Off sick. He lives with Grimur his "one eyed , yellow striped cat" who is "so old that all you can hear is an occasional creak", rather than a sympathetic purr. And Sveni needs his cat and his telephone call to his sister on days when he goes on a bender and the past comes back to haunt him. I thought this story was really well told - a whole life and its effects in 11 pages - that takes some writing skill. The way Kata's own story is just dropped into the book, as if in passing conversation, but it cuts like a knife.

Later there is a passage which describes the proliferation of houses that has come as the village has expanded beyond the traditional homes - "some of them are comically lopsided but inspired by beautiful thoughts; others are beautiful because of their history. Some or ugly because oft heir lack of maintenance testifies to sloth and apathy; and some are ugly because of something that has happened there. Some of them have been renovated by younger generation, others are derelict or have been demolished and replaced with box-like non-houses." When I read this it seemed to sum up the book for me, as if the passage referred not to houses but to the village's residents. Happy moments,sad moments, dark secrets kept, secrets told, families gone, love stories, wistful memories, and horrors that still haunt the derelict souls they created.

Peirene Press have definitely found a niche in the market with their short, under 200 page, novels in translation, and if you want to try them out and perhaps explore something other than Nordic Noir thrillers then this one may well be a good one to start with. Take a Waltz with the Valyeri and see a whole world of life experiences

[Catriona · Rating 4 out of 5]

A really beautiful collection of vignettes of life in a northern Icelandic town, all set within a few minutes of each other. There are universal themes of love, regret, greed, creativity and unfulfilled potential, all held together by the setting, where everyone in the town knows each other better than they know themselves. I thoroughly enjoyed this book and will be reading it again.

[Wahyu Novian · Rating 4 out of 5]

“Relaxing Nordic hygge in a novel; the entire story takes place in two minutes.” That sentences on the back cover alone is enough to convince me buying this book immediately. I haven’t read much about hygge, but I think I can grasp the concept. And yes, this book is how I imagine hygge is, in a shape of a novel.

In an afternoon on summer’s day, as a young woman wearing a white dress with blue polka dots on a bicycle passed the main street, a glimpse of the stories of villagers are unveiled. Memories of dream, creativity, love, anger, sadness, longing. Through mundane everyday life in a fishing village, being there on every little bit of it. Sitting in the sunshine with wine in their glasses, sunlight pours in though the west-facing door, someone carefully takes a sip of his coffee.

“A village is not just the movement of the surf and a life of work, the clattering of a motorboat, or in the sunshine with their heads on their paws. It's not dogs that lie only the smell of the sea, oil, guano, life and death, the fish and the funny house names. It's also a chronicle that moves softly through the streets, preserving an elemental image of the village created piece by piece over the course of centuries. This is us, what we are like, the people of Valeyri, we here, we. Everybody knows certain chapters of this chronicle...”

It’s a calming novel, even though not all of the stories are happy. Some are full of longing and sad. But the lyrical sentences bring soft music to the stories of the villager. Like a hush of a wind in an afternoon on a summer day.

[Jackie Law · Rating 4 out of 5]

In a fishing community in the north of Iceland a young woman cycles to the village hall where she is to conduct the local choir in a much anticipated concert. As she passes by the reader is introduced to the characters who briefly observe her, many of whom have lived in the village for most of their lives. The narrative covers just a few minutes in time, like a wind blowing through the streets in which these people are going about their day. Whatever they are doing, minds are wandering. Lifetime memories can be triggered by a moment, before that moment drifts away.

And the Wind Sees All, by Guðmundur Andri Thorsson (translated by Bjørg Arnadottir and Andrew Cauthery) is a study of the never ending train of thoughts that individuals live with yet rarely share. Snapshots from the past are cherished – their significance is personal, sometimes hurtful to others. A young woman may have sparked feelings in a man that his wife has never generated – feelings he will linger on as he ruminates over what might have been. A wife may despise her husband for his habits but put up with them for the sake of family harmony. It can be wise to avoid drawing attention to that which is better lived with silently.

One group of long time friends is sitting outside enjoying a pre-concert drink and listening to an anecdote, each remembering events from their pasts involving others known to all but significant in differing ways. These personal perspectives interlink but with unacknowledged importance and consequence. There are: loves, betrayals, resentments, regrets.

The reader learns of the lonely and the guilty. Fortunes have been made and lost. Secrets devastatingly shared. Children have been raised and loved before dying or moving away. Events that felt like endings were survived, marking change.

A poet waits patiently for words that continually flutter away. A priest drinks and gambles in privacy. An old man drowns memories of childhood abuse in alcohol before collecting himself and resuming his quiet existence. A sister grows exasperated with her brother and they cease speaking.

The writing is lyrical and poetic, the sharing of hopes and dreams that sparkled and then faded. Life continues beyond disappointments, marking time with occasional small happinesses. The village knows many of these secrets but chooses to accept and look away.

Lives are complex. Words for intimate feelings prove elusive, the feelings themselves fleeting. The metaphor of the wind passing through and observing just a few minutes of individual lives brings to the fore how little people are aware of what is happening to others, even those close by.

This is an affecting approach to portraying the ordinary as personally extraordinary. A poignant yet hopeful read.

[Therese · Rating 4 out of 5]

I bought this book in Reykjavik as a souvenir of a wonderful trip to Iceland. The first time I tried to read it, I ended up setting it aside because the narrative seemed too disconnected and I didn't have faith it was going to go anywhere, and it kind of made me fall asleep. I am glad I decided to give it another try after all, because on the second go I found the writing really lovely and realized that there actually was a subtle narrative arc that came together more and more by the end as you learn about the characters of this small Icelandic town and how their lives have intersected over decades. Recommended particularly if you'd like to travel to Iceland in the pages of a book.

[Kirsty · Rating 4 out of 5]

Very nearly a five-star read.

[Booklunatic · Rating 4 out of 5]

4 Sterne

Es passiert nicht wirklich viel in diesem kleinen Büchlein, das eine Momentaufnahme im Leben eines isländischen Dorfs und seiner Bewohner darstellt. Ein jeder hat hier so seine Sehnsüchte und Geheimnisse, die ihn umtreiben. Mir hat das sanfte, gleichmütige Dahingleiten des Romans sehr gut gefallen - vor allem auch die Poesie, die in vielen Sätzen mitklingt und die ich als typisch isländisch empfunden habe.

[Kitty · Rating 4 out of 5]

siin raamatus ei juhtu mitte midagi. Kata sõidab jalgrattaga läbi küla, täpiline kleit seljas - ongi kogu lugu; samas jällegi räägitakse ära kõigi külaelanike lood, millel lastakse omavahel mõnuga põimuda. lood olid nagu elu ikka, mõned rõõmsamad ja mõned kurvemad. ohtralt oli vihjeid heeringatele ja finantskrahhile, nii et paras islandi hõng oli juures.

kas ta nüüd just hygge oli, nagu kirjelduses lubatil, aga vähemalt ei olnud nordic noir, ja ma olin juba jõudnud kartma hakata, et põhjamaade kirjanikud midagi peale noiri ei oskagi kirjutada.

"He believed that he would always get away with everything. That’s how it had always been and he felt that it was because of his grandmother in heaven rather than his mother on earth, who always took care of paying for everything, or his wife, who put up with his excesses."

[Alicia Zellmer · Rating 4 out of 5]

“You feel all kinds of currents in your heart, deep currents that might bring something new, were they allowed to mix with other currents. There is so much hidden inside you, in this depth.”

Gosh this book was absolutely gorgeous. And despite the sadness of many of the stories (within this story), they were all accompanied by light & beauty in some way. Highly recommend for those who want something lyrical and character-driven that tingles the senses.

[Corinna Jüptner · Rating 2 out of 5]

Die Idee, das Leben in einem kleinen isländischen Ort aus verschiedenen Perspektiven zu erzählen, fand ich eigentlich spannend – aber der Stil hat mich komplett rausgebracht. Zu verschachtelt, zu bemüht poetisch, ohne dass es mich emotional erreichen konnte. Leider eher zäh als berührend.

[Cam · Rating 4 out of 5]

Enthralling writing feeling both like a collection of short stories and one novella. Looking forward to re-reading it in a few years. (and can't wait to spend some time in Iceland)

[Ana · Rating 4 out of 5]

If not the wind then who? Because we are, at the end of the day, in our own heads, alone with whatever food we have been able to obtain for ourselves, and our thoughts. But Valeyri is as tiny as it is wide, and only in this way can we see life from all sides.

[Tonje · Rating 4 out of 5]

I really liked it. Poetic and short.

[Karsten Vestergaard · Rating 2 out of 5]

Valeyri-valsen er en tungsindig roman fra Island, hvor vi møder en række menneskeskæbner i den lille fiskerby Valeyri.

Fælles for dem, er at de alle har ondt i livet på den ene eller anden måde, hvad enten de kæmper med et familiemedlems selvmord, et sexovergreb i barndommen eller ulykkelig kærlighed.

Thorsson skriver i et lyrisk sprog, som til tider rammer plet. Han har en forkærlighed for en højstemt inderlighed, og alt, hvad personerne foretager sig, tillægges en ophøjet betydning. Hvad enten de sejler fiskekutteren i havn eller stikker en lammekølle i ovnen. Det bliver lidt trættende i længden:

”Hun sidder her i hans køkken, og det er igen, som om den blå farve på kommoden i hjørnet udelukkende er der, fordi hendes øjne er blå”.

Måske var det bedre, hvis kommoden bare var blå, fordi den nu engang var blå... Thorsson bliver for insisterende i alt sit føleri, og jeg endte med at blive temmelig indifferent, hvilket nok ikke var hensigten.

Man fornemmer en stille varme og en sympati med romanens personer, men Thorsson skriver fuldstændig humorforladt, og det er med til at gøre det hele lidt traurigt. Det samme var tilfældet med en anden islandsk fortælling, jeg læste for nyligt, så måske er det et gennemgående træk?

De forskellige fortællinger er afvekslende, men hænger egentligt godt sammen – man føler, at man får et kig ind under facaden hos lillebyens indbyggere.

Thorsson er klart bedst, når han skriver socialrealistisk og afdæmpet, mens det omvendt er lidt svært at sluge historien om den slovakiske kvinde der bliver bortført på gaden og skibet af sted til Island som sexslave. En malplaceret spøgelseshistorie fuser ud i ingenting.

Et gennemgående træk, er at mange af fortællingerne slutter meget åbent. Det er et bevidst valg fra Thorssons side, men jeg synes ofte det blev lidt uforløst.

[Jim · Rating 5 out of 5]

Any one of the chapters in this novel could stand alone as a short story and lose little but I think it would be wrong to this of this as a novel in short stories. Yes, all the villagers have their stories but they’re a part of the much bigger story the wind sees as it blows through the Icelandic village of Valeyri.

The book is bookended by the only two chapters—or really half-chapters—written in the first person by a ghost no less…

I too am long since dead. I should have been extinguished years back and perhaps have been, without having realized it yet. I am but a consciousness. I come in off the sea and slide along the spit, and soon I will have vanished with the mist. I am the afternoon breeze; I visit at around half past four and an hour later slip away to my dwelling, made of the past: of the grass that stirred a moment ago, the dandelion seeds that have floated to a new place, the folds of Kata’s dress as she cycles down Strandgata on her way to the village hall.

..but whose we have to wait until the end to discover.

Kata—Kata Choir as she’s known (most of the villagers have affectionate nicknames)—is the thread that connects all the stories; she appears, briefly, in all of them “gliding past on her bike, her forehead wrinkled in concentration, wearing a white dress with blue polka dots” but we have to wait to hear her story.

The book, although not long, is packed with characters (in the broadest sense of the word) and it can be hard to keep them straight in your head and, and maybe this is just me, to keep their genders straight: Jósa is female, so is Lára and Fríða; Jónas is clearly male as is Guðjón, Gunnar and Árni Going Places (or is it Árni Moneybags?) but what about Lalli Lár (a.k.a. Lalli Puffin), Teddi, Gúndi and Kalli, the bestower of most of the Veleyri nicknames? Árný could go either way. Jói (whom the villagers call Jói Lára Lár’) sounds female but is actually male. Many are related but all have history.

The Times Literary Supplement described the range of books published by Peirene Press as “Two-hour books to be devoured in a single sitting: literary cinema for those fatigued by film” and that description would certainly fit this book although it took me much longer to get through it and I was in no great rush.

The book doesn’t have a plot in the traditional sense but it does have a point, specifically a point in time, the point where Kata cycles by. Each chapter steps back in time to that moment when Kata passes by and we get to see what those who notice her are doing at that moment and how they got to that moment. For most of these people it’s not a life-changing moment but most moments aren’t; they’re quite forgettable until you take a second, as the visual artist does, to frame them and then they become art:

A village is not just the movement of the surf and a life of work, the clattering of a motorboat, or dogs that lie in the sunshine with their heads on their paws. It’s not only the smell of the sea, oil, guano, life and death, the fish and the funny house names. It’s also a chronicle that moves softly through the streets, preserving an elemental image of the village created piece by piece over the course of centuries. This is us, what we are like, the people of Valeyri, we here, we. Everybody knows certain chapters of this chronicle: the tale of Dr Jónas and his depression; the love story of Guðmundur, the poets’ poet, and Katrín, and how she married Lalli Lár, his childhood friend, while Guðmundur, the poets’ poet, lay dying of TB – abandoned her poet for the village king; tales of wily ghosts and capricious witches; a ship’s crew miraculously saved at the eleventh hour, another who perished even though there was a dead calm out at sea; tales of missing persons and getting lost in perilous weather…

This is a lovely wee book, gentle and poetical. In particular it uses repetition to good effect, like a refrain; music, understandably, is a recurring theme in the book whether it be Pärt; Bach; Bruckner; Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young; the Rolling Stones; the Óli Smartypants Dance Band; some (possibly Czech) Dixieland band; a nursey rhyme; “a real plover out on the moors, happily calling tyu-wee”; an “accordion player wheezing away at ‘The Hreðavatn Waltz’” or a girl strumming her guitar and making up “tuneless strains about the wind and about … absolutely-nothing-at-all.” It is also a sad book. Not constantly; it tries to get away but something keeps dragging us back if not to sadness per se then to melancholy and, certainly, regret.

They are a disparate bunch fond of gentle teasing but if you’re in the village you’re of the village and the village looks after its own. I think the story I related to the most was Árni’s. He’s sixty-four and has recently returned home after moving down south to make something of himself:

The villagers sometimes mimicked him when he wasn’t around: to get away … But they believed it. They never asked him for anything and never invited him to anything, but they were proud to be part of that distance he had sought. They felt the need to defend him and shield him from intruders, and when visitors arrived asking about his house and his circumstances they would close up and assume enigmatic expressions and say they didn’t know anything about him and weren’t interested in him, pointing at an abandoned house that had been empty for many years. Everybody knew that he had a secret. Everybody knew that he was guilty of something. Everybody knew that he was serving a sentence of some kind.

Anyone who’s familiar with my reviews will know I don’t hand out five stars willy-nilly but, seriously, I can’t find fault with this one. So much will be missed on an initial read and despite having more books to read than I have time for I could see myself returning to this one.

[Serena · Rating 5 out of 5]

I read this for my second Queen's International book club meeting, and was thrilled from the point that it was recommended to us, I am always pleased to have another source of suggestions for literature in translation and this was a delight. Interestingly, I thought this time around that in many ways it was harder to find something to say about this in the book club discussion, given that for me the overwhelming features was simply that it's so well written and skilfully translated, and I didn't need any more than that to be persuaded! The book club discussion was nevertheless enjoyable, as it's a pleasant experience to talk about bits of the book you liked and why with other people who also liked it (general vibe from the group echoed comments on it being really well-written, with the only common criticism being that it was sometimes hard to keep track of characters, though as ever there were counter-comments that this didn't really matter and is also part of the structure that makes it stand out somewhat). Plus, the chance to hear from Andrew and Bjørg was a great one; to be able to hear how they jointly translated (in separate rooms, with Bjørg starting, and Andrew following about a day behind) but also brought their own skills in music and theatre respectively to be captured in their final piece, it's no wonder it's a masterpiece. I had picked up on the charming repetitive motif/catchphrase device while reading and was interested to learn this is a formal device to convey the musicality of the text.

There were some really insightful comments from fellow readers, including:
• how gossip really helps sharpen how easy it is to engage and I would add makes it feel like it is the village's story, a collective work;
• surrounding whether the description of Nordic 'hygge' is accurate, some caps arguing the label is simply part of marketing hype rather than being accurate, some pointing out that as long as the actual understanding of 'hygge' encompasses the dark and more difficult emotions such as suppression of troubles then it may actually have some weight. I wonder actually whether it matters who the 'hygge' label was given by; to me I had read the book understanding it was the author's purpose to just tell a story of many characters, but would be interested to know more;
• that it had been interesting to hear from Bjørg and Andrew that Thorssen is now an MP (though I am sad this means he will not be writing any new books soon; and
• the observation that the wind was an interesting unifying voice, and that although there was a diverse set of characters depicted and all vignettes were in the third person, they were underlined nicely by that voice. Bjørg and Andrew made a fascinating comment that actually there's very little regional difference in dialects in Iceland, perhaps because the population is small, and perhaps because they have generally been quite isolated (except for those that sometimes talk with a Danish accent, and this actually features in the book through some mockery). I hadn't known this, and am appreciative that I do now!

I've definitely gotten a lot out of both reading and discussing the book, and the majority of what I've gotten I think is enjoyment! I was reminded of one point I'd like to be cautious about with foreign/literature in translation discussions, that is avoiding falling into the trap of asking 'I noticed this point, is that common in all Icelandic literature', as unless there's a factual reason (such as that last bullet point above!) for why 'all Icelandic' or any literature from one country should necessarily be homogenous, I'd be inclined to stick to giving the individual author and/or translator (team) credit where credit is due, rather than reducing commentary to fitting them in to a national culture somehow. But grateful for the reminder and I definitely hope to receive more recommendations for great works I wouldn't have discovered otherwise.

***PRE- Meeting notes
Rough notes - to be revisited post book-club meeting! They're mostly just from my highlights because realistically extracts from this book capture it better than anything I could say, it's SO well-written!
On the translation:
• The rhythm of the language is very soothing (and fitting with the title) e.g. paragraphs often have a repeated pattern such as, "maybe... Maybe e.g. the in the Universal stillness. Interested in this rhythm. Is it in the Icelandic?
• Nicknames: "Arni Going Places", "Oli Smartypants" or "Lalli Puffin", I really like these. A great touch. How much had the translator/author heard them before, are they common? Does that map on to the translation?(e.g. smartypants is a nickname a lot of people get in the English language, Going Places isn't so much)
• Oxymorons, e.g. "Gives the silence that is not silence but a kaleidoscope of sounds"
On the style, and on telling the story of a village collectively:
• Does two minutes capture an entire person and their life? Or is it part of capturing a village, how people's stories are part of an overall picture, and how their narratives weave together to make this picture?
• "You spend half your life trying to find out things the village already knows about you when you're born. However much you study yourself, your life and innermost thoughts, the village always knows a whole lot more."
• So many emotions, and not easy ones! Longing, pain, lack of control over your life, resignation, teenage romance, desperation, uncertainty, and yet it's so charming this book, so beautiful.
On pieces it picked up about Iceland:
• "He had a particular gift for picking up on those typical Icelandic crazes, which are like a prospector's seam of gold or a canny angler's bumper catch: skipping ropes, toffee, cars, shoes, coats, hair accessories…"
• "He knew how to read Icelandic society, he knew that it revolved around connections - making connections, being connected"
• "In the kitchen hung an unfamiliar smell of animal, food, sweat and earth. Maybe the smell of Iceland itself."
• Backdrop of Icelandic banking crisis (Sigga and friends)
• "He often gazed at Svarri, the mountain that overlooks the village, thinking that the shape of it reflected some feeling in him-perhaps the feeling of being left behind.

[Etienne · Rating 2 out of 5]

Une série de courtes histoires qui tournent autour des habitants d'un petit village. Idée intéressante, écriture d'une certain beauté, bien que je crois que l'on perd un peu de son essence dans la traduction, mais où le bas blesse, c'est dans les histoires en elle-même. Le début est toujours excellent et accrocheur, mais on se retrouve rapidement à décroché et à s'ennuer. C'est bien malheureux, mais au final, un livre peu intéressant et peu divertissant. Puet-être pas à éviter, mais il y a beaucoup d'autres livres à lire avant celui-ci.

[AgaW · Rating 4 out of 5]

Dawno nie czytałam tak poetyckiej (i tak smutnej) opowieści. Na pewno to również zasługa starannego tłumaczenia. Piękno tej książki nie kryje się w akcji czy bohaterach, a nawet nie w historii, którą opowiada. Piękno kryje się w niebanalnie dobranych słowach.

To opowieść o mieszkańcach małej osady na Islandii, a konkretnie o jednym momencie z ich dnia, na pozór nic nie znaczącym, na który spojrzymy oczami każdego osobno.

[Anne Goodwin · Rating 5 out of 5]

The publishers suggest we read this as Nordic hygge but, to me, it’s Icelandic Jon McGregor revealing the darkness beneath the deceptively calm surface of village life.
Full review
Beneath the surface calm: Stories We Tell Ourselves & And the Wind Sees All https://annegoodwin.weebly.com/1/post...

[Majka · Rating 2 out of 5]

Jeśli jest jedno uczucie, które towarzyszy całej tej książce to "tęsknota". Ale nie za pięknem życia na islandzkiej wsi, tylko za utraconym szczęściem i niewykorzystanymi szansami. W mojej ocenie trzeba być w naprawdę dobrej kondycji psychicznej by tę książkę przyjąć. Jest smutna, a do tego chaotyczna i absolutnie NIC się w niej nie dzieje. Myślę, że za pół roku nie będę o niej pamiętać.

[None Ofyourbusiness Loves Israel · Rating 4 out of 5]

Thorsson's novel presents a kaleidoscope of interconnected stories, each ignited by a single event. Kata, the village choir conductor, cycles through the fictional Icelandic fishing village of Valeyri, her presence stirring curiosity among the residents. As she passes, their vibrant lives unfold, a rich tapestry woven with joys and sorrows.

The narrative unfolds over a captivating two minutes, taking us on a thoughtful exploration, moving from house to house, character to character. We become silent observers to their inner struggles, witnessing their pasts, desires, and hidden truths. The cast is unforgettable: a gambling priest wrestles with faith, siblings clash but find solace in each other, an old flame rekindled, and a sailor grapples with loss. There's a poet yearning for the perfect word, and a wealthy man haunted by a past love.

Thorsson's prose paints a vivid picture of modern life in Valeyri. The village is a microcosm of human experience, where bittersweet memories surface alongside the sting of heartbreak and guilt. Lonely men drown their sorrows, lovers lose hope, and children leave, leaving a void behind. Yet, life perseveres. Music fills the air, sunshine warms the skin, and joy flickers amidst the darkness. Thorsson captures the essence of a summer afternoon, showcasing the hopes and struggles that unfold within this Icelandic community.

This novel offers a window into the soul of Valeyri. As we meet its inhabitants, their stories intertwine to create a rich tapestry. The author masterfully unveils the forces that shaped each resident, revealing their vulnerabilities and dreams. We learn about the fishing industry that sustains the village, the stark contrast between the urban bustle of Reykjavik and the quiet charm of Valeyri, and the anxieties about Iceland's future. Ultimately, this beautiful novel explores the complexities of human emotions, all within the extraordinary confines of a single moment.

[ClareT · Rating 5 out of 5]

Wow, I loved this book. The writing and story are, on the surface, quiet and slow paced, but so much is happening without happening. So many dark themes included, meaning the story is not quiet at all.
The book is about a small town in Iceland, where everyone knows everyone, and many are connected in different ways. Kata cycles down the street in her polka dot dress, on her way to the hall where she is conducting the choir in a concert. On the way she passes a number of residents, some of whom are in her choir. Each chapter focusses on one or more of the characters she passes, telling a story about their life, some of which is known to other residents, much isn't. This includes Kata herself who has a story to be told too. However, the stories are not fully told, some finish with the ending never included, only hinted at. And then there is the voice of the wind itself.
As far as I can tell this is the only book translated into English. I hope that there will be more to come - this is the best book I have read so far this year and one that I will read again, as I think it will improve already knowing some of the characters.