Wow, this book is so boring. Ellinor is an incredibly two-dimensional character, and everyone she meets is even flimsier and even more shallow, which is particularly disappointing, as these are the Sami characters that ought to be at the heart of the story. As for the autobiographical portions, they become incredibly repetitive. It's sad that Helene Uri takes such an interesting topic, the story of her pursuit to understand her Sami ancestry, and never delves beyond a surface-level "I wonder what my Grandpa thought about [whatever she's fixated on for this passage]." The book is disappointingly colonial in its framing, as in both stories the disillusioned Norwegian protagonists use their proximity to the Sami to have some sort of spiritual awakening that gives them a new sense of direction in their personal lives without meaningfully engaging with Sami people and attempting to give back. Even when they have their epiphanies, these awakenings are so poorly documented that readers can't pin down exactly when they happen, much less hope to experience them alongside the leading ladies. I think that, had this story been handled by a writer with much greater emotional depth and empathy, this could have been a much better novel.
[EDIT: I wrote a full review]
In her novel Clearing Out, Helene Uri explores the complexity of modern Sámi identity through the eyes of two Norwegian women, each independently working to better understand the lives of the Sámi people. Part memoir and part fictional narrative, Clearing Out follows Uri as she uncovers the truth about her grandfather, a half-Sámi man from Sørøya, along with the fictional character Ellinor as she conducts research on rare Sámi languages and their speakers. Uri holds a career similar to that of her protagonist, herself a linguist at the University of Oslo, and a native to Oslo. If this book strives to serve as a literary introduction to the culture of the modern Sámi people, Clearing Out falls short, preferring instead to explore the inner worlds of the women who research them. While Uri and Ellinor find themselves drawn to the Sámi people for different reasons, they are unified in their positionality; both women are outsiders, and both women are academics, pursuing knowledge through the methods they know best—scholarly research. However positive the intentions of Uri and her fictional counterpart, neither narrative attempts to expose its readers to nuanced portrayal of modern Sámi culture. The result is a novel that uses the Sámi people as little more than a narrative device—Sámi people may be centered, but only as the tools through which Norwegian women can better understand themselves.
The novel switches between two perspectives, that of Uri and that of Ellinor. Readers may at first find it difficult to understand which character they are following, but as they gather more information about each of the two women, this mental-gymnastics becomes increasingly manageable. In Uri’s sections, she focuses primarily on the grief of losing her mother and on her inquisition into the lives of her unknown Sámi family. Likewise, in Ellinor’s sections, the story focuses on the loss of Ellinor’s father and Ellinor’s self-growth as she grows closer to the Sámi community she researches. Through these two parallel narratives, Uri reveals her preoccupation with family as a central theme of the novel. Ellinor shares as much in one of her passages: “Relatives and family are important, repeated her father, especially in small families. The stories must be told,” (Uri, 159). By showing readers the importance of Uri’s mother and Ellinor’s father to each of the women’s identities, she establishes the importance of understanding one’s predecessors, a premise which gives weight to Uri’s journey to better understand her own background. The plot itself remains fairly simple, consisting mostly of each woman’s journeys between Sápmi and Oslo, and the relationships they develop. This fundamental dedication to the inner lives of Norwegian characters serves as the novel’s greatest downfall, as it comes at the expense of the development of Sámi characters.
While the majority of characters remain shallow and two-dimensional for the duration of the novel, Ellinor herself proving as no exception, Uri demonstrates that she can write a sympathetic character through the emotional and deliberate portrayal of her own mother. Uri dedicates herself to the representation of her mother as a woman with a passion for her family’s genealogy and she presents each of her mother’s belongings as a window into her mother’s soul. For example, as she rummages through the deceased woman’s old closet, she uses a simple description of a dress to give light to her younger days: "It doesn’t smell like Mama; she certainly never wore it in the past forty years. This one I want. I’ll put on the dress, cinch the belt around my waist, spin around on my heels, and think about when she was a young mother in Geneva, when she held my sister by the hand. She was talkative then: elle bavarde trop was written on her report card," (Uri, 220). Sadly, the mother is the only character to retrieve this treatment. In comparison, all other characters fall flat. If this were a book about family and grief, this wouldn’t be an issue. But for a novel which markets itself as an exploration of modern Sámi culture, Uri repeatedly invests far more in Norwegian characters than the Sámi people they engage with.
Throughout the novel, Uri focuses on developing two main Sámi characters, Anna Guttormsen and Kåre Os, along with speculating about her own long-lost Sámi relatives. Her understanding of her Sámi relatives never culminates in any profound conclusions, a fact for which, due to the intentional erasure and Norwegianization of Sámi culture, Uri herself holds little responsibility. However, continual speculation about relatives she has never met and conversations with equally ill-informed cousins doesn’t serve as any meaningful substitute for engagement with actual Sámi people who live in the region her grandfather hailed from. As for Ellinor’s story, the lack of nuance given to important Sámi characters is even more egregious. Kåre, a middle-aged Sámi man, is the primary love interest of Ellinor, yet Ellinor hardly cares to engage with him beyond their sexual encounters. Occasionally she tries to inquire into aspects of his family history which she knows are taboo, and expresses self-righteous frustration when he won’t tell her everything. She feels entitled to his thoughts yet dismisses his intellectual capacity to understand her, refusing to talk with him when he tries to comfort her after losing her father.
The portrayal of Anna is even worse, as Uri writes the elderly Sámi activist as a stereotypical caricature of a mystical indigenous person, one who holds hidden knowledge and forms of spirituality that, though not initially understood by the non-native protagonist, will eventually help that character to grow and better understand themselves. Ellinor repeatedly makes assumptions about Anna and her culture that Anna proves later to be incorrect, such as a repeated interest in what Ellinor assumes to be an amulet made of wolf’s tooth. When Ellinor finally asks about it, Anna replies: “It’s some expensive French thing. I bought it at Galeries Lafayette a few years ago” (Uri, 251). While Uri uses moments like these to demonstrate Ellinor’s ignorance, these instances are so shallowly dismissed that readers never understand Anna beyond the exoticized version of her that Ellinor presents. In a book that hopes to explore Sámi culture, the frequent dismissal of any opportunity to build a nuanced depiction of Sámi people makes clear Uri’s priorities: Sámi characters exist in the novel to help her Norwegian characters to grow.
While on the surface Uri embarks on a novel about the importance of familial heritage and the persevering culture of the Sámi people, she ultimately produces of a work that centers the experiences of Norwegian women and how their encounters with Sámi people shape their personal development. The book is disappointingly colonial in its framing, as throughout both stories the disillusioned Norwegian protagonists use their proximity to the Sámi to have some sort of spiritual awakening that gives them a new sense of direction in their personal lives without meaningfully engaging with the Sámi people they meet. The greatest strength of the novel, the depiction of Uri’s own mother and the grief she experiences in losing her, only serves to further draw attention to the difference between the level of care and empathy with which Uri portrays Sámi and non-Sámi characters. In a novel which promises an exploration of Sámi people in modern Norway, Clearing Out leaves readers with a book about two Norwegian women who use a taste of indigenous culture and history to enrich their own lives.