Die Vögel

by Tarjei Vesaas, Hinrich Schmidt-Henkel (Translator)

In »Die Vögel« erzählt Tarjei Vesaas von dem Außenseiter Mattis, der sich in eine kindliche innere Welt zurückgezogen hat und von den anderen Dorfbewohnern als zurückgeblieben verlacht wird. Seinen Lebensunterhalt versucht er mit kleinen Hilfsarbeiten auf dem Feld und im Wald zu bestreiten. Mattis lebt in einer Hütte am See mit seiner Schwester Hege, die den Haushalt führt und ihn versorgt, und er fühlt sich mit der Natur ringsum verbunden. Besonders ziehen ihn die Waldschnepfen an, deren frühlingshaften Balzflug er als Zeichen sieht, als Verheißung, die er nicht entschlüsseln kann. Als eines Tages der Holzfäller Jørgen auftaucht, sich in Hege verliebt – und dann auch noch eine Schnepfe erschossen wird, wirft es Mattis aus der Bahn.

Genres: Fiction, Classics, Scandinavian Literature, Novels, Literary Fiction, 20th Century, Literature

275 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 1957

About the author

Tarjei Vesaas was a Norwegian poet and novelist. Written in Nynorsk, his work is characterized by simple, terse, and symbolic prose. His stories often cover simple rural people that undergo a severe psychological drama and who according to critics are described with immense psychological insight. Commonly dealing with themes such as death, guilt, angst, and other deep and intractable human emotions, the Norwegian natural landscape is a prevalent feature in his works. His debut was in 1923 with Children of Humans (Menneskebonn), but he had his breakthrough in 1934 with The Great Cycle (Det store spelet). His mastery of the nynorsk language, landsmål (see Norwegian language), has contributed to its acceptance as a medium of world class literature.

Reviews

[Vit Babenco · Rating 5 out of 5]

Mattis and Hege… Brother and sister… His thoughts are so simple and so slow… Thunderstorms are his greatest terror…

Mattis looked to see if the sky was clear and free of clouds this evening, and it was. Then he said to his sister Hege, to cheer her up: “You’re like lightning.”
The word sent a cold shiver down his spine, but he felt safe all the same, seeing the sky was perfect.
“With those knitting needles of yours, I mean,” he added.

He lives in his inner world… It isn’t rich but it is his own… He is the only one who understands his inner world… Secretly he dreams of love… To all the others he is just a fool…

The girl washed her hands in the same pool as Mattis. Down in the water, made turbid by their mud, their hands touched for a brief moment as they plunged them in. A shock ran right through him. Gradually the running water swept the pool and the hands in it clean again. But now he dared not go anywhere near her.
The girl looked at him, and he had no time to think.
“It was almost like touching an electric fence,” he blurted out.

He envies birds… They are free… They can go anywhere they wish… He imagines that he has befriended a woodcock… 
When his boat springs a leak he is saved by two girls and this day becomes the best day in his life… Then he decides to be a ferryman carrying people across the lake… And on the shore he meets a stranger…

“There’s a proper ferry service here from today,” said Mattis. “It’s my very first day. And you’re my very first passenger. Do you want to go straight across? My home’s straight across from here. Well, and Hege lives there too, of course.”

The simple ones have simple fates and in the end they disappear leaving no trace.

[Steven Godin · Rating 4 out of 5]

Like a gentle ripple across calming waters, or a songbird taking flight in the early morning sunrise, Tarjei Vesaas writes a delicately structured story of two siblings living a serene existence in rural Norway. Mattis is a sweet natured simpleton who burns the days away drifting off into his own world, whilst older sister Hege knits sweaters in their cottage by the lake. On occasions Mattis wonders around the local farms looking for work, picking crops, or bailing hay, but he finds it difficult to grasp reality and struggles to understand human relations. Firing silly questions at Hege all the time does lead them to bicker, but they tolerate each other, even if they don't really live on the same intellectual level.

The Birds captures the frustrations of unfulfilled time in a spare and humane way, it is both a tender and warm look at those on the fringes of a normal life, but it also presents itself with an overpowering sadness, mainly for the reason of Mattis, who completely took hold of me the whole way through, he made me laugh, and almost made me cry, the reader sees the world that Mattis sees but is able to interpret it with more sophistication. there are several moments where we are able to understand the motivations and the actions of the people around Mattis when he is, shall we say, not all there. A woodcock would fly one day over the cottage, having Mattis take off into the clouds believing it's of some important significance, infuriating Hege as he will just not shut up about it. You can feel somewhat sympathetic for Hege, stuck all alone with a simple brother, yearning for some joy or romance in her life.

Whether it was intended, there are also moments that are quite tense, Mattis would become a ferryman, carrying people across the lake, the trouble is there is just no one about, but at least he has a reason to face the day with more enthusiasm, he is now an important figure, or so he would believe, leading to a cramped moment on his boat where he tries to show off with two girls he ferries back to land. He would then pick up a lumberjack (Jorgen) who works in the forest and agrees to put him up in the cottage. And it's here that the behaviours of brother and sister would change. As Hege and Jorgen gradually become lovers, Mattis fails to handle this new situation, and just makes the complications of his world even more confusing. And you are never quite sure just what he has up his sleeve to try and get the attention of Hege back.

There are many beautiful passages of description, animals, forests, the lake and surrounding area, which had me thinking of Henry David Thoreau's "Walden", also the character of Mattis does bear some resemblance to that of Lennie from Steinbeck's "Of Mice and Men" (although both books don't really sit with each other).
The Birds is ultimately a moving portrait of a simple and despondent life, and thus hoping to break free from a trapped scenario. An incredibly beautiful piece of writing that takes your mind away from the modern world, and even though it appears to end all of a sudden, this is one unforgettable read that's not going away any time soon.
4.5/5

[Libby · Rating 4 out of 5]

I was attracted to this story by booktuber, Sean at ‘Travel Through Stories.’ Touted as one of Norway’s greatest writers, Tarjei Vesaas writes about nature and the landscape in a compelling way. The back cover of my library loan is an article from ‘The New York Times’ dated March 10, 1969. The title, ‘Norwegian Tunes Novels to His Demanding Land,’ is particularly appropriate. The protagonist, Mattis, is neurodivergent and lives with his sister, Hege. His interactions with nature form the substance of this 224 page novel.

It was Sean’s review that gave me the patience to stick with this novel. I became bored with the minutiae of Mattis’s day to day existence, the strange way that his mind looped with obsessive thoughts. I did, however, enjoy his connection to words and I began to allow myself to enter Mattis’s world. This is not a plot driven narrative, although there is minimal plot and the forward movement of the day to day. It is mainly Mattis, his thought processes, and way of being in the world that drives the novel toward an inescapable conclusion.

Mattis is often struck by events in nature that you or I might ignore. In this story, the flight of a woodcock over his house takes up preeminent space in his thoughts and physical existence.

“But hush, there it was. The flapping wings, the bird itself, indistinct, speeding through the air straight across the house and off in the other direction. Gone again, hidden by the gentle dusk and the sleeping tree-tops.

Then Mattis said in a firm voice: ‘So the woodcock came at last.’”

Mattis is so disappointed in his sister because she lacks any excitement about the woodcock. ‘And you’re supposed to be clever?’ he criticizes her. He wants her to go out at night to see the woodcock’s flight. She reacts with impatience. Hege is always at work, knitting sweaters to sell so that she and Mattis have a roof over their heads and food on the table. No doubt she is tired. She reminds me of how caught up I am in the economics of things, whereas Mattis takes the time to not only enjoy the flight of a bird, but to experience it as a major event, almost spiritual. The woodcock follows him into his dreams and makes him feel special, quite different from his usual feelings of being a failure, of lacking the ability to figure things out and be like other people.

When a lumberjack comes to rent a room, the planets of Mattis and Hege are knocked out of their orbit.

In the end, I realize that my patience has been rewarded. Tarjei Vesaas’s beautifully rendered prose has revealed that I am Hege but there’s more of me in Mattis than I dared imagine. Like a boat traveling through uncomfortable waters, the story created a reverie, wind upon the water, a character I will never forget.

[Dolors · Rating 4 out of 5]

The world is a hostile place and, according to Mattis, people don’t mean what they say when they speak. A simpleton, a weirdo, a child imprisoned in the body of an adult man, Mattis muses over the factors that separate him from the rest of the small community of the nameless village lost somewhere in a rural area in Norway where he and his sister Hege subsist in a cottage by the lake.

Condemned to be permanently out of work due to his slow-witted faculties and lack of social skills, Mattis is bitterly aware of his inadequacy and secretly yearns to possess the wisdom and strength of other townsmen while his sister wastes away the remnants of her youth knitting sweaters that will provide some coins to get by without starving. Unable to keep his job as a hired hand working the fields of a neighboring farm because“his fingers won’t do as they are told”, Mattis creates a world of his own where time dissolves into thin air as soon as the woodcock flies over the cottage leaving a radiant trail of light, which precludes the thunder of the upcoming storm, before it glides down on the entangled branches of the twin aspens that guard the garden. A world where he can articulate witty remarks to flirt with farmgirls, find a job as a ferryman shuttling people across the lake, meet two playful mermaids trapped in women’s limbs and invent a system to read The birds’ language.

"You are you, a voice inside him seemed to be saying, at least that was what it sounded to him. It was spoken in the language of birds. Written in their writing. You are you, that was what was written."

The human need to establish bonds that will break down the barriers between individual isolation and collective belonging is written all over Mattis’ actions. What transforms the worn out theme of the stereotyped misfit resisting an unyielding society into a beguiling narration that interweaves menacing natural imagery with occasional outsburts of genial writing is Vesaas’ astute tapestry of symbolic and recurrent hints anticipated by an omniscient voice, capable of generating a tension as thick as fog, which is reflected on the aseptic frozen lake where Mattis rows his dreams, longings and fears.

Nature is as beautiful as it is lethal, deadly lightening might fulminate the aspens, the wind might whistle lost birdsongs of the ensnared woodcock and Mattis’ boat might bring Jørgen, the muscular lumberjack, into Hege’s life and destroy the fragile ecosystem that Mattis so assiduously constructed over the years in the blink of an eye, but Vesaas’ stark prose and the disturbing blend of tenderness and apprehension that paints the tone of the narration with the colors of a barren landscape will remain long after the last page is turned.

And the wind will subside and in the lake, now a becalmed pool, the birds will make a solitary dance and speak through their graceful footprints and you, the reader, will miraculously understand their language because somewhere in-between fable and hapless reality Mattis has become the reader and the reader is now Mattis and when the boat sails the glacial waters of an ominous future, you two will walk, hand in hand, towards the sound of flapping wings and create a cozy nest with sundrenched memories of a long gone but never lost childhood.

“The bird came, bringing with it all those things for which there were no words.”

Perfect Soundtrack for this book

[Alan · Rating 5 out of 5]

I used to work with David. He wasn’t like everyone else. He was on his own path. He had his own thoughts. We worked in a grocery store. He was in charge of cleaning the shelves, dusting the products, changing the garbage, rounding up the carts. David was hard of hearing. He also told me that he had been diagnosed with OCD – he needed to change the trash cans in a specific order, and he would do so frequently, often far before they were even close to full. He would grab the clear garbage bags and tie a big knot, but there was only a discarded coffee cup and a banana peel in there. “David’s playing with balloons again” could be heard all over the store. I am not painting myself to be a saint – I said the same thing. In fact, I think I was tougher on him internally, though I tried not to show it. I worked the customer service desk – the place where 57-year-old assholes would come to complain about their rotten watermelons, purchased “just last week, I promise”. No receipt, no proof of purchase, no product. Just a picture of some random watermelon. And the customer is always right. I was on edge, keyed up for most of my shifts. David would come through, trying to change the garbage bag, conveniently located right behind me, meaning that I was between him and it. He would stop 3 paces from me, no matter how busy, and repeat the same phrase over and over: “Alan, excuse me Alan, excuse me Alan, excuse me Alan”. The thing is, I couldn’t often move – the store was very busy, and moving meant leaving a customer mid-order, or job suicide. Needless to say, I was quite annoyed with David. He would never show up on time, he would not respond to calls over the PA system, he would leave mid conversation. But you know what? We lived in the same neighbourhood, and he would never once fail to stop me to say hi. Always. He asked me how my day was, and it wasn’t a trivial, shitty little thing to move the conversation along. He cared. The focused gaze, the pleasure in his face when I didn’t leave immediately to do god knows what.

The main character of The Birds, Mattis, immediately reminded me of David. Living with his sister Hege, small Norwegian town. She takes care of him. He tries his best. He is in touch with nature, he really loves the birds. Woodcocks are his favourite. He sees a significance in nature that others only say they do, usually while watching car commercials that focus on the expanding horizon and mountains. Hege cannot help but be frustrated at times, but tries her best. Both of them do. It’s hard to fault anyone in a situation where no one is wrong. It’s also hard to shove away the frustration, pretend everything is fine.

Chris from the YouTube channel Leaf by Leaf (absolutely one of the best channels on the site, if you have never come across it) does a great job in capturing a lot of what I want to say about this book, my emotions, how it stirred me, etc. I think I cannot do much more than just simply point you to his thoughts. Here it is. He says something important in the video: this book will stay with you. I can already sense the truth of that statement, more so than most books I have read in my life. That’s rare.

For me, this was not an “enjoyable” book by any means, but a beautiful and masterful one. It was really difficult for me to get through it. As I was chugging along this past week, I kept thinking of David. I didn’t do the thing where I thought “I could have been nicer to him”, as I know that’s just wishful thinking – easy to say when you are out of the situation. When you are dragged down by the gravity of the situation itself, it’s much harder to put those thoughts into action. But I kept thinking of him. I have a new appreciation for him. I will keep thinking of him. That’s what Vesaas has given me. I didn’t tear up once reading this book. I finished it yesterday. Since then, I have teared up 3-4 times just thinking about it. Yeah... this bastard will stick with me. That’s a good thing. I wonder how I will act when I see David on the street in the next few days, as I am bound to.

[Praj · Rating 5 out of 5]

“You are You, that was what was written.”



For the past week, every time I stepped into my room, an inquisitive man bombarded me with string of questions I had no answers to. “What’s the use of having so many turnips?”, he asked as he lay gazing at the naked sky. A faint whiff of camphor emitted from his smile, as he repeated how he pompously waved to Anna and Inger from the pier with sheer happiness, the boiled sweets gently being tossed by his tongue. The songs of the bird have no regulations sprouting from the petite beak on the whims and fancies of its colourful singer; coded messages of the birds veiled under those melodious tunes. For Mattis, I kept aside the astute reader dwelling within me and opted to take a lesson or two from the rebellion avian wonders and read the book with pages twisting according to my whims and fancies. Like, the spontaneous birds, I opened up a page, read Mattis’s words and then traced my path back and forth through the graceful prose deciphering each footprints and clandestine messages pricked by the beak of the woodcock trying to comprehend the language of birds through the optimistic eyes of Mattis. I resisted my nasty urge to pry into the story-line or the sub-plot, all I sought after was to perceive the world of Mattis through his words, his mind, his frustrations and longings while seeking a plausible answer to the avian greeting, “You are you!”


“Why are the things the way they are?”



Since the days when the reviewed prose found solace only in the confined dwelling of my notebooks, all ever that was written in those single-lined pages were incessant lists of questions searching for answers from the inner world of books, responses that were dismissed in the external milieu. When does the mind stops asking questions or rather does discharge them through frivolity? Do we surrender our curiosity to the obstinate barriers hurled by the resolutions? Why have we stopped asking questions? Is it a mark of an idiocy or naivety if one poses too many questions? If I had a penny for each of my mushrooming questions being disposed by a recurrent resonance of “It’s the way things are.... grow-up. Is there nothing on the television?” Do then, the “grown-up” minds never have the need to ask question? Or, is it that the winds of maturity bring along clouds of ignorance and indolence? There were times when I ached to offer an ardent listening ear to Mattis’s copious questions, to the undemanding man who longed to talk about himself and his struggle and in them I could have searched my own clarifications. A simple mind is child-like, naive and inquisitive. Unlike the fearful judicious mentality, simplicity is fearless in its own way. Pristine and unscathed by the corrupted ways of life, it flourishes through sense of sympathetic and comforting communication. Silly as it may sound, I found Mattis’s plain, childlike mind to be courageous for not only being able to produce plethora of queries but, for giving a voice to them even at the risk of their reckless dismissal. How come those who possess the three gifts of vigour, intelligence and beauty; the very endowments that Mattis desired, are unaware of its commendable merit? Do we take granted the precious gifts of our mind because we are born with it and never have known a world without it? If only, the worldly wise could frequently ask, “Why are things the way they are?” perhaps, someday, someone might just stop saying, “It’s the way things are.” And, then Mattis would never feel like an outsider in this sophisticated intellect masquerade.


“But, hush there it was. The flapping wings, the bird itself, indistinct, speeding through the air straight across the house and off in the other direction..........”

The surprise flight of the woodcock over Mattis’s home enchants Mattis and in the bird’s recurrent airborne moves, the woodcock becomes one of the central characters in Mattis’s life. The bird becomes a herald of a secret-language, an omen prophesying the probability of a vulnerable future and one of nature’s many essentials that equates its uniqueness with Mattis. Vesaas’s employment of woodcock as an ornithological symbol signifies the fundamental spiritual intimacy through which Mattis relates to the exquisiteness of nature. Similar to the woodcock, the existence of the lake becomes a spellbinding ironical personality permeating the habitual existence of Mattis and Hege. The boat that he ferries across the lake, the cool waters of the lake, the solitary aspen trees, the turnips in the field, the thunderstorms become a gratifying compensation to Mattis’s innermost life filling it with explorations of his enthusiasm and apprehensions.


“The world was full of forces you couldn’t fight against which suddenly loomed up and aimed a crushing blow at you.........What could you do when things were like this?”



Drops of change come from the subtle dilution of resistance, however, when the dregs of resistance precipitate into substantial despair, the opaqueness of change becomes an impenetrable substance. The two slender aspen trees with withered tops, swayed between these distressing elements of change and resistance. The lush forest , the serene lake, the coquettishness of two gorgeous women, the fierce lightning, the menacing toadstools, the gentle wrestling of Hege’s knitting needles with its optimism resting within the eight-petalled woolen roses and the soaring flight of the woodcock gradually seep into the inherent life of Mattis. It is his world, only for him through which mirrors the mysticism of nature and the meaning of being alive with the helplessness and fullness of an inner-life that is beyond the comprehension of normalcy. Tarjei Vesaas scripts a simple story of a simple mind juggling in between the unexpected lunacy and the expected “normalcy” of life. Simplicity has no place in this complex world, its existence ridiculed through mocked “Simple Simon” labelling. Vesaas depicts a memorable world of simplicity unconsciously whittling a harbinger eminence, a simple life set in the idyllic Norwegian rural town merging into the transitory happiness and perplexity of agonies that arrive through loneliness, patience, love, hope, death, desolation, and change, antagonism of an independent survival and above all the perils of being a Simple Simon. Mattis’s journey maybe one-dimensional and chaotic, nevertheless it is numinous, poetic and deeply emotional. Vesaas’s masterpiece etches profoundly the poignant and compassionate narrative of Hege and Mattis , leaving me as mesmeric as the voyage of the woodcock. Oh, my dear Mattis, you have been such a charming roommate for the past few days, please do visit me again and bring along that chirpy woodcock fellow and maybe, Mr. Vesaas too. You are you, Mattis! You and the woodcock!


***[The above photographic illustrations were taken from the book inspired 1968 Polish movie – ‘Matthew’s Days’ ( Żywot Mateusza)]

[Algernon · Rating 5 out of 5]

"Hush now, dont explain
You're my joy and pain"

I've never been less inclined to dissect and explain what a book is all about than now. It feels like riding roughshod over something soft, and pure and true, something beyond words and meaning. To understand this book I need to learn the language of birds, of thunder, and of light over water. Tarjei Vesaas is the one who knows all these secret signs, and he offers them to us like a child holding out a treasure (a nest, a polished stone, a wildflower) that he has just found. To be immersed in his prose is to be cleansed by that crystal clear northern light of his native Norway and by the peace that comes after a day of hard labour.

It was tempting, but he pushed the idea firmly aside. He didn't dare. After all, the bird might get frightened - and something might be spoiled that mustn't be spoiled for anything in the world.

His name is Mattis, and the neighbors call him Simple Simon. They believe he is a simpleton, but I beg to differ. A scientist might argue that Mattis is autistic. To me he is Adam in the garden of Eden, an innocent soul that hasn't learned how to lie, how to hide his feelings behind an armor of indifference or sophistication. To paraphrase another writer who struggled to find her place in a cynical world, Mattis is near to the wild heart of life. Everyday is a miracle waiting to happen, everything around him is a sign, a promise or a threat that needs to be studied and understood. When a bird flies one evening above his cottage, Mattis is convinced this is a portent that his life will be forever changed.

The wings were high up in the mild night air, but at the same time they touched the very center of Mattis's heart. The soft dark touch of something beyond understanding. It spread right through him. Me and the woodcock, sort of, ran his formless train of thought.

His tragedy is that Mattis lacks the words to put his emotions into language, to communicate to others the richness of his inner world. To me, this brings Mattis in line with the rest of us. Who among us didn't experience this distance between meaning and the words we use to express it. How many times did this meaning remained locked inside us, for lack of a partner in conversation, or for lack of proper language skills. Under the subtle pen of Vesaas, Mattis becomes me, and his puzzlements are all the questions I ignored or dismissed over the years.

Two withered aspen trees side by side,
in among the green growing spruces.

Mattis is not alone in the world, because he has a sister devoted to him. He and Hege live in a rundown cottage at the outskirts of an unnamed village. Because Mattis is unable to do any proper work, Hege provides for both of them by endlessly knitting sweaters to sell. They are both growing old together, but the years side by side were not enough to break through the barriers of language raised by Mattis's particular worldview. What difference does it make whether there's a woodcock here or not? exclaims Hege when Mattis runs in with the news of his small miracle. She needs to worry about money for food, about her life going to waste, about the tedious routines that have remained unchanged for decades.

Yet change is in the air, announced by the woodcock flying over the cottage, by the thunderstorms of spring, by the restlessness of Hege, who starts to chafe under the constant neediness of her younger brother:

- Think of others a bit, too. You have to when you're grown up.
- What others? he asked helplessly, filling her with fright.

Tarjei Vesaas has woven his magic for me before, bringing together light and darkness, yearning and fear, beauty and sadness into apparently simple stories of ordinary people going about their ordinary lives. The inner thoughts of his characters are always reflected in changes in the natural world. I envy him most of all this close contact with the forests and fields, with rivers and ice mountains, with the wild creatures that are the repositories of our innocence and of our freedom. Mattis is closer to his woodcock than to his village neighbours. He is not civilized, he knows no middle ground between terror and extasy, and his mood swings will often frighten the people around him. Some (most) of these people treat him with kindness, some with mockery or suspicion. None though can break through to his inner core and bring him back into the fold. The longer I read, the more convinced I was that Mattis is not for his world. Vesaas is also a master at foretelling: one of the dry aspens is hit by lightning, the woodcock is shot by a local boy . Which is heartbreaking, because Mattis needs so little from the world to be happy.

Their cottage stood in a marshy little hollow that rose from the lake. Birches and aspens were dotted among the conifers. A little brook ran down through the hollow. Sometimes Mattis thought it was more beautiful here than any other place he had seen - of the few places he knew.

A bird singing in the forest, a couple of young girls smiling at him on a hot summer day, a job he is good at, after so many failures (rowing a boat across the lake), a bag of candy from the local store, another girl touching his face for a second - it would be so easy to make him a part of our 'civilized' world. The unasked question of the story is where did we loose our connection with the natural world, when did we get thrown out of paradise, and how can we get back into the garden. Mattis thinks he has found the answer, but for him this answer is written in the ephemeral path of a woodcock flying at sunset towards the forest, in the wake of his boat crossing the lake, in the dance of the clouds over the mountain tops, in the echo of words left unspoken. There, and gone again in an instant.

You can't row straighter than straight. Pity the wake disappears so quickly, it ought to stay on the water for days, covering it with streaks.

Mattis makes me wonder what do I really need in my life to make me happy? Do I need a new car or a holiday in Ibiza? Or do I need a walk in the woods, a quiet evening in the company of a loved one? A salary rise or a touch of another hand on mine? A day spent gazing at a computer screen or a brief sunrise over a misty lake, somewhere far away from cement and gasoline fumes. I hope one day my dreams will come true, and when they do, I hope a wild bird will cross my path, or a boat will leave a single trail over the water. Mattis knew all the answers. Too bad he couldn't get them out to the rest of us.

One more day, he thought. And no one knows! Isn't it strange.
A little later he suddenly thought: that's the way it is with everything.

[Garima · Rating 5 out of 5]

the flight of Woodcock
with its wings spread wide
gives me hope
and few tears in the eye - A Rebellious Haiku

A harmonious union between a sublime array of words, a fateful conviction and the search for an imperceptible notion by a singular soul, brings forth a work of inspiring and substantial beauty - The Birds. The convergence of these elements is not incidental but requires a delicate balance of innate talent and pertinent learning, where the emergence of extraordinary within the lines of ordinary becomes the prime motive of art and the artist. When the name of such artist turns out to be Tarjei Vesaas, one can be assured of receiving a humble lesson in various spheres of humanity.

The setting of a breathtaking landscape is soon introduced, but once the tender shadows of long, magnanimous trees and the dark veil of sinisterly silent lake subsides, one can detect the centre of this book, which is formed from the relationship of a brother-sister duo. Hege, the Sister who is responsible and unhappy; Mattis, the Brother who simply is. The sister, who is living in the world tainted with all its worldliness; the brother, who tries to make sense of friendly gestures and dangerous words. One is usually considered ‘sane’ in our society, and the other is simply dismissed as a ‘simpleton’. Eventually, an inevitable tumult occurs between a single person and the whole universe where the judgment seems to be rest in the hands of unforgiving forces of nature.

The sensitivity with which Vessas has captured the unfiltered thoughts of Mattis through simple, understated expressions and the way his vivid narration unfolds in slow, tranquil streams, holds the power to evoke a myriad range of emotions in a reader. It’s always a pleasure to come across a book which one can easily recommend everyone to read.

[Dave Schaafsma · Rating 5 out of 5]

The Birds is a short novel by Norwegian poet and novelist Tarjei Vesaas, translated with great respect for the author’s lyrical prose and the quiet characters. I think it is a masterpiece, without question. It was certainly in the top four or five books I read in 2022, but it was published in Norwegian in 1957, so is not exactly flying off the shelves today (in the USA, at least; I am sure he is still very popular in Scandanavia).

Mathis is known by everyone that lives nearby as Simple Simon. He’s never labeled, but then in 1957 when this book was published, no one would have used this word to describe him: Neurodivergent. I have two boys on the autistic spectrum, and I think these contemporary terms fit Mathis in many ways. He can’t quite function in society without help; he can’t really work regularly, it’s too much for him, and he can’t quite understand the patter of “clever” people. He just wants to be outside with birds and fish on the lake. He lives with his sister, Hege, who works at home and takes care of him. She sends him out to try to get some work, but this is rarely successful.

“What can you do when everyone around you is strong and clever?”

Mattis is intensely connected (as my sons are) with nature and animals. He has an almost psychic or spiritual connection with trees, storms, the lake, and yes, birds. When a woodcock flies over his head he takes that as a good sign for them. When a hunter kills the bird, he takes that as a bad sign for them. I thought of indigenous spiritual connections to land as inhabiting spirit. Two aspens stand nearby his house (older, with a leaky ceiling) he associates with him and his older sister, who takes care of him, knitting sweaters constantly to make enough money to feed them. When one of the aspens is hit by lightning, he takes that as a bad sign for them. Nature speaks to him, or to anyone, if we listen.

Increasingly, Mattis and Hege are living a precarious existence, financially. At one point she suggests (though she mainly needs to just get him out of the house, because he is driving her crazy with his questions and his crazy ideas) he take his (also leaky) boat to ferry people across the lake. He has to bale water out of it all the time, and his head is elsewhere, so at one point he barely makes it to a far shore. Two girls help him, and so suddenly this is a good day! I thought of Steinbeck’s Lennie, also a simple, sweet guy in Of Mice and Men, who also likes girls, especially when they are nice to him, of course.

Increasingly, there is an accumulation of ominous moments that seem to portend. . . something bad: The dead bird, the lightning strike, the leaky house, the leaky boat, and then the turning point, when Mattis picks up his one “ferryboat” passenger, lumberjack Jorgen, who (okay, I won’t spoil the ending, I promise, but he's part of the turn) comes to live with Mattis and Hege, and falls in love with her. What can this possibly mean for Mattis’s future? What if Hege were to leave? People in town are generally nice and respectful to him, but it is only Hege who truly takes care of him, and to some extent understands him, as lonely as she herself has been. We are sympathetic with her need for love.
We can see her dilemma.

Here’s a passage that can give you a little flavor of how Mattis’s mind works, and how respectfully Vesaas crafts him as a character:

“This gave him another opportunity to use one of those words that hung before him, shining and alluring. Far away in the distance there were more of them, dangerously sharp. Words that were not for him, but which he used all the same on the sly, and which had an exciting flavour and gave him a tingling feeling in the head. They were a little dangerous, all of them.”

Over time we begin to see the world as Mattis does, seeing the fearfulness of communication, and the signs and portents he sees. We begin to understand him, as “simple” (which is to say different) but also very complex. We worry about him in his engagements with the community. We come to see the world through his eyes, to some extent. I loved this book so much! It's one of my all time favorite books already, and in my first encounter with Vesaas’s work! I highly recommend this sweet, achingly sad, lyrical work. So much compassion here for Mattis, and Hege, too. Such lovely writing. I will read more of his work, for sure.

PS And then I read another book by Vesaas I felt was just as powerful, The Ice Palace! Two of my very favorite books of the year! Both short, both intense, mysterious, lyrical, luminous.

[BJ Lillis · Rating 5 out of 5]

Reading Tarjei Vesaas is like walking through a forest clearing at dusk. There is no question, at such moments, of being bored, or of being entertained. There is no meaningful distinction between thought and observation. Meeting a stranger on the path, or a friend, you wouldn’t for a moment question their reality, nor would they appear as something apart from the world, distinct from the evening light, the birds gathered in the trees, the breeze. You talk to them a moment and then walk on, thinking about the future or the past and, even so, being in the moment without even trying. The world around you is freighted with meaning, and yet you yourself are part and parcel of that meaning.

In other words, reading Tarjai Vesaas is a goddamn miracle.

[Agnieszka · Rating 5 out of 5]

Mattis, a man with the mind of a child or maybe a boy trapped in the body of an adult male. Sensitive, still delighted with the surrounding world, childishly amazed and ready for a great change. Overflowed with unnamed desires, tangled thoughts, unspeakable words . Why are things the way they are?

Hege, his sister and a carer. With every day more and more tired and embittered. Her days go on knitting sweaters and difficult care for Mattis. Her hair starting to turn gray and she yet had not time to experience life that seems to slowly slip through her fingers.

Matis and Hege, intertwined like aspens growing in their backyard and named after them Mattis-and-Hege.

Painfully beautiful, metaphorical tale with unhurried narration about relation man to other one and man to nature as well. Placed in a melancholic Norwegian landscape which reminds me a place I used to spend my summer holidays. It’s called Masuria, the land of a thousand lakes. The last day of my summer stay there I used to going to the lake, walking deserted pier, listening to the birds. There’s always something sad when summer passes, something in the air, maybe evening mist, maybe the wind which makes ripples on the surface of the water and bulrush seems to whisper farewell …

All Mattises of the world are the same, we pass them on the streets, meet at the stores. Seeing them we roll our eyes, sometimes embarrassed, sometimes compassionate.

Farewell Mattis then, I wish I could tell you something … but the right moment has gone... Everybody has to carry on with loneliness on one's own.

[Diane S ☔ · Rating 3 out of 5]

Mattis is a man with the mind of a child. His elder sister Hege takes care of him, knits sweaters constantly in order to support the two of them.

I can't say I liked this book, but it was interesting to see inside the mind of this man child. Often selfish in his needs, like children usually are, he finds solace and understanding in nature. Questions why he isn't like everyone else and is often awkward in his phrasing, not knowing what to say in different circumstances and is always naïvely innocent. He hates changes, so when he is confronted with a change he finds unacceptable he is forced to act with disastrous results. The prose is spare, beautiful at times, but always true to the story. I liked best Mattis and his wonder with nature, the birds that he is sure are trying to communicate with him. My feeling after reading this is melancholy and confused. I am sure that there is much I just couldn't absorb, or understand.

[Mariel · Rating 5 out of 5]

She looked at him as at a grown-p now, and then she said something: 'You're lucky, seeing things the way you do. I don't, I can tell you.'
She had stopped now, wasn't simply rushing off to her eight-petalled roses. Today once again she had heard a tone in his voice that made her pause.
'How do you see things, then?' he asked, forgetting himself. Spoilt the moment completely. She gave a start, even though she was really to blame.

The people who live near brother Mattis and his older sister Hege named a pair of withered aspen trees after them. I can see their stone trunk faces with prematurely colored hair, standing still and growing rootless. Mattis sits on their porch and stares into the trees as if he is nursing a terrible secret to his breast. It is one of many things that has driven Hege batshit bonkers since she became his caretaker (their mother died long ago but I imagine she was in charge of her brother before their father passed as well). Hege has long known that they are named after them. Rustling words in their leaves couldn't mean anything worse than half made out words of doomed future. It will never be the other way around that he will take care of her. When one of the trees is struck down by lightning Mattis is convinced that it is an ill sign to befall one of them, if only he knew who was which tree. Mattis, you would be dead without either tree. He demands of a local townsmen only he plays dumb as if he doesn't know what "Simple Simon" means. No one ever knows what Simple Mattis is going on about. His is a world of signs and omens and he is convinced that everything will be different if he was like one of the clever people, or if one of the clever people would admit that they knew what he was talking about. Hege has lived all of her forty years with no joy. When lumberjack Jørgen becomes her sweetheart she has a smile on her face that Mattis cannot recognize because it had never happened before. She isn't crying to the wall at night anymore, guilty the next morning for forcing her brother to let her sleep one night through not at the mercy of his flights of fancy. The Birds has two rhythms: the way that Mattis sees things, and the way that things really are. His omens and his will, and the breaking of his sister's giving tree limbs. He can sense another face behind it. He is lucky if he can see things the way that he sees them. It is a tragedy that he can't live with things the way they really are. Hege has "kept" him all his life. Unable, or unwilling, to keep a job. In the first part Mattis has a job thinning turnips. He cannot take his eyes off the young girl (who in turn cannot take her eyes off of her sweetheart, although they get their job done). Wave at me, don't see me for as I really am. Mattis prefers people who drive by in cars because they do not know him as Simple Simon. They will not hear him speak inside their speeding vessels. It is safe to wave, a normal man for once in your life. He would attach himself to your heart and bleed you dry. He lives for the signs he reads that you are tree whispering about him behind his back. It's half willed, half tragedy.

In the first section Mattis falls in love with the flight of the woodcock. No, don't tell me the logical explanation. The clever people steal the liveable way of seeing, the hope for something special. It was a new cock and it was his first flight. Everyone knows a bird doesn't change his flight path. I almost felt it would be worth it to see the Mattis way when he watches the bird on that path. I was moved by the beautiful expression he imagines on his own face over the beautiful shining bird. If you didn't have to weave sweaters like lightning to get by as his sister. If you could see it. But was it worth it?

In the second part the historic day on the lake happens. Mattis gets to be a new man when he meets the famous Anna and Inger on the lake. Two girls who are nice to him, smiling and carefree young bodies. I feel the cruelest thing is when someone knows their brains don't work the way they are supposed to. He dreams of girls at night. It must be like being amputated and it is in all your noodles that connect to every part of you. There was a man who lived in the home for the mentally challenged here who was made that way by poison (he slept with the wrong man's wife). He could remember the way he used to be. That has haunted me. Mattis almost gets to forget that with Anna and Inger, between the smiles it is safe.

Hege doesn't mean it when she suggests he gets a job as the ferryman after the glorious dream of Anna and Inger. No one lives on the other side of the lake. It is a way to get him out of her hair and from underfoot. Mattis sees his way, talks his way, and he needs so much to keep it fed. It is a lot of work to see things the Mattis way. The other side, the real world, is consuming it like hungry piranhas. Jørgen is his first, and only, passenger. His world has no end or beginning, it is always the same eating Hege's sandwiches and feeding dreams of black. The back of the book says that Mattis cannot adjust to the relationship between his sister and this man. I wonder at describing this book in that way. The way the things are. Mattis cannot deal with this even when he asks townspeople and the clever people have no answer. I would say it is Mattis cannot deal with the way things are. Until he does and he has to go the way of his woodcock who was buried under the flat stone he cannot bear to think about but can't stop thinking about. Seeping in, like the water in the leaky boat he sits in "working" at nothing. If Hege is going to live Hege has to leave Mattis. Mattis won't see things the way things are. He thinks about his own beautiful expression over the bird. He is moved by himself. He is hurt by himself.

The Birds made me so sad and I still had that sweet feeling for the times he could see things the other way, the bird language way. I told my sister about when he is ashamed to get the charity candy (knowing that the drugstore owner does this for children and so sees him that way) and yet can't resist eating a piece once he's outside the door, already helpless to his helpless nature. Neither of us could stop that sad smile thinking about Mattis. I'd want to help him and yet you'd eventually drown in sadness if you did. Imagine being Hege and having to do that every day of your life. Imagine being that way and ever having to know that that was you. You might drown. The Birds swims in all of these the way things are, could be, want to be. I don't think I'll ever forget that sweet sad feeling of hoping Hege didn't know they called them that, happy she found her lumberjack, sad she did.

[[P] · Rating 4 out of 5]

The other day I was talking to a man who, impolitely, one might call ‘slow,’ and I felt myself getting annoyed and losing patience. He was easily confused; often repeated himself; and stuttered terribly. ‘I’ve had three strokes,’ he said, and I nodded, thinking this was merely an example of the strange compulsion people have to inform others of their problems or ailments. But then, a moment or two later, I realised that he was offering me this information as an excuse, as an explanation. He had obviously picked up on my irritation, and I felt ashamed, as, I suspected, he did too, but for different reasons. There are, of course, a lot of horrible things that can happen to a human being, but it strikes me that the loss of mental agility, and being aware of this loss, at least some of the time, must be a particularly potent kind of misery.

In The Birds, acclaimed Norwegian author, and one time Nobel candidate, Tarjei Vesaas tells the story of Mattis and his long-suffering sister Hege. While Mattis is an adult [he is thirty-seven], he appears to have the mental age, and physical capacity, of someone much younger. Certainly, Hege treats him like a child, looking after him, telling him what to do, and often humouring him in his strange preoccupations and mental flights of fancy. As far as the locals are concerned Mattis is ‘simple’ [his nickname is Simple Simon], and yet that strikes me as short-sighted. Mattis is not simple at all; he has a complex inner life, it just isn’t like most other people’s. For example, he says to Hege that she is ‘like lightning,’ referring to her flashing knitting needles, an association that is unusual, but imaginative, countering accusations of idiocy. Likewise, his experience with the woodcock, which plays such a central role in the early stages of the book, is full of intense, sophisticated and conflicting emotions.



Crucially, and movingly, as with the man I mentioned in my introduction, Mattis does have self-awareness. He knows that people think him stupid and incapable; moreover, he regards himself that way too. This leads to him feeling frustrated, uncomfortable, and worthless. Indeed, there are two subjects that are particularly painful, which are ‘thinking’ and ‘work,’ two things at which he considers himself a failure. Yet, in spite of these ‘failures’ there are aspects of his character that I found admirable, and that, in fact, I could relate to myself. First of all, Mattis’ cosmic sense of wonder, his relationship with the woodcock, which he attempts to communicate with by leaving it messages, is really quite beautiful. Secondly, his honesty, his inability to be diplomatic, is refreshing. I dislike lying, even so-called kind lies; I am, in fact, incapable of them; I lack tact, frequently upsetting people by not telling them what they want to hear. Mattis does this too, for example, when he points out that Hege, who is three years his senior, is going grey.

It is probably clear by now that Mattis dominates the novel. The Birds is not written in the first person, but it is largely concerned with one man’s thoughts and feelings, his fears and desires, with Vesaas making use of a free indirect style. However, Hege, of course, still plays an important role, although one only really sees her through her brother’s eyes. For Mattis, Hege is wise and strong. Yet one must not lose sight, and to be fair to Mattis he doesn’t, of how hard life is for her. Not only is there a certain stigma attached to having a ‘simple’ brother, but he also cannot work, and so earns no money. He is no real company for her either, because she finds it impossible to communicate with him in any meaningful way, what with his peculiar concerns. To be in her situation must, at times, be like trying to interact with an alien species; it must be, and is, a lonely state of affairs. This is why she gets so upset about the grey hairs. Hege feels, understandably, as though life is passing her by, that, specifically, she has no life, that, as she says herself, she ‘gets nothing out of it.’

As I, or more specifically my parents, get older I have begun to think increasingly about old age, mental health, and our responsibilities towards our loved ones. My mother has been seriously ill recently, and so I have had to ask myself ‘If it came to it, would I be prepared to be her carer?’ Am I selfless enough to make the necessary sacrifices? One of the cruel things about life is that it forces you to confront these uncomfortable questions; you cannot lie to yourself, you have to be honest. What kind of person am I? The truth is, I’d rather not know. I am not saying that this is always the case, but there is a real sense in the book that Hege has spent much of her time in bondage to Mattis, that she has missed out on her youth, or her best years, in order to keep him. Mattis himself acknowledges that without her he would die; she is all that he has, their mother and father having passed away.

“This gave him another opportunity to use one of those words that hung before him, shining and alluring. Far away in the distance there were more of them, dangerously sharp.”

Before concluding I want to return to something I have briefly touched upon earlier in this review, which is communication, because this is, for me, one of the novel’s major themes. Throughout, Mattis fails to make himself understood to people, including his sister. The importance of the woodcock is a fine example of this. Numerous times he tries to articulate what the bird means to him, but he never manages it. This inability to express himself clearly, and Hege’s reluctance to engage her brother – perhaps due to weariness or fear – ultimately has tragic consequences. As the novel moves towards its climax, Mattis worries that he is losing Hege. To prevent the crisis that envelops the siblings all Hege need do is treat Mattis like an adult, or even a mature child, one who deserves a frank and in-depth discussion relating to the future; Mattis, on the other hand, ought to explain his concerns, but simply cannot bring himself to say what is on his mind, and so acts out instead. This is the saddest thing of all: that two people can love and care for one another so much, and yet be so blind to the needs of the other.

I want to finish with some discussion as to Vesaas’ skill as a writer. He was, I believe, a poet as well as a novelist, and, well, it shows. I don’t like to throw the word poetic around when discussing prose, because I think that often it is used to denote flowery, overcooked sentences, but I find it apt here. The Birds is tight, evocative, beautiful. Vesaas displays wonderful control; his style is one of economy, whereby each word seems to matter. Moreover, there are at least three scenes – the fate of the woodcock, Anna and Inger, and the mushroom – that will stay with me for a very long time. If I had to compare the Norwegian’s work to that of another author, I would say that it is like a less curmudgeonly Patrick White, and that is a big compliment, because that pissy old goat could write like a motherfucker.

[Tony · Rating 4 out of 5]

In moments of not quite sober reflection, I see myself a truffling pig, rooting through the pages of these books, looking for answers, not necessarily answers to Life's mysteries, but to the Why of the book itself. My snout bumps against some allegorical knob and I pause and raise a porcine eyebrow. Aha, I snort. I smile a satisfied pork smile, happy in my muck of certainty, or maybe just a pig's obstinacy.

But with an old pig's sense, I do not interrupt an ongoing phone call to say, "Let me tell you about the two dead aspens..." I don't bother the neighbors to come look at the clouds; I don't tell the waitress that breakfasts are beginnings; I've never told a jury to call me Ishmael.

Mattis isn't like that. When the woodcock flies over his home, he becomes obsessed with the meaning of it. And he has to tell everybody.

Mattis is what is called simple. The children tease him, calling him Simple Simon. He lives with his sister, Hege. They get by on the money she makes knitting flower petals on sweaters. Mattis can not tell weed from turnip and the very thinking of the difference makes him sleepy. He tries to speak to the clever ones, but nothing comes out right.

Yes, there's a familiarity here. I heard notes of Steinbeck; saw Jansson's watercolors. What made this unique, though, was the aspens and the woodcock; what made this different was the point of view. Vesaas tells this story in the third person, but clearly events unfold through the mind of Mattis. It is a fractured mind, and incompletely formed. He means well, but the words come out harsh, confused, unintended. A sexual longing, also confused, hovers. He wearies his sister.

He is coaxed to take his leaky boat out onto the water, to be a ferryman. He will have but one customer, Jørgen, the woodcutter. Woodcocks do not fly that way, Mattis knows. Soon, Hege will have to choose.

'What's the matter?' Hege asked at once. She saw it was no ordinary morning.

Matts simply shook his head in reply.

'Tell me,' she demanded sternly, knowing her brother as she did, and up to a point he obeyed.

'I'm almost killing myself, I'm thinking so much,' he replied truthfully.

'Oh, is that all,' said Hege.

He gave a start.

'Come and have your breakfast,' she said.

What will Mattis do, now he's figured it out.

_____ _____ _____ _____ _____

Well. Back to my truffling. Snort.

[Helga چـو ایـران نباشد تن من مـباد · Rating 4 out of 5]

And the eyes are closed.
And the rivers have stopped flowing.

Everyone calls him Simple Simon on account of his mental disability. His name is Mattis and he lives with his sister Hege, who supports him, but wishes he could find and keep a job rather than sit all day long at home and talk about nothing but birds, the lake and the imminent thunderstorm.
Mattis doesn’t understand many things and he knows he isn’t clever or strong like the others but as long as his sister is there for him, he is happy with his lot.
But nothing lasts forever. The day Mattis finds out that his sister has fallen in love with a lumberjack and may well abandon him, is the day his carefully constructed world falls apart.

[Emilio Berra · Rating 4 out of 5]

Nordico norvegese

Una casetta in riva al lago : ci vivono Mattis, 37 anni con l'handicap di un deficit intellettivo, e la sorella quarantenne.
La straordinaria scrittura del norvegese T. Vesaas conduce la vicenda oltre i limiti storici e geografici. Fa vibrare nel lettore corde segrete sentinelle del rimosso, s'insinua nelle nostre ferite che pensavamo da tempo rimarginate, ci fa sentite più umani.

Il romanzo "Gli uccelli" sprigiona significati simbolici, evoca immagini semplici e suggestive a cui l'austerità affascinante del paesaggio nordico fa da sfondo, a tutto conferendo una dimensione tra il realistico e il fiabesco : un lago solitario, il bosco, il volo degli uccelli... Sottrae alla mera realtà l'aspetto superficiale, dandole profondità e incanto.

Mattis va oltre le convenzioni del vivere, benché ne senta il peso e l'inquietudine. Si apre al mondo immaginario che si fonde sorprendentemente col mondo della natura, degli animali, la cui misteriosa complessità sfugge al raziocinio.
"Doveva andare nel bosco, seguire quella striscia invisibile nel cielo. Era la sua strada quella, la strada della sua gioia".
Tendeva a caricare di senso il linguaggio degli uccelli e delle cose mute : "Leggera va la mia beccaccia sugli argini, quando è stanca del cielo" ; coglieva il lato poetico lasciato dalle "impronte di zampe. Gli pareva che fossero passi di una danza".

Spesso sulla nostra autostima attribuiamo troppo potere agli altri. Quando invece potremmo essere, semplicemente essere ; lasciarci pervadere dalla gioia di esistere, grati per la fortuna di vivere.

[Chris Via]

Video review: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vXdbi...

[Annelies · Rating 5 out of 5]

Meet Mattis, the main character, who you cannot but love although he speaks and acts a little strange, not like other persons. His vision to the world may seem naieve and simple but has its own logic. He lives his peacufull life with his sister Hege, a life only sometimes darkened by the threat of work. But then, some day, while trying to work something happens that will threathen his peacefull life for real...

This was such a refreshening read. The simple yet unorthodox thoughts of Mattis often put a smile to my lips or sometimes you feel a little pang at your heart by reading them. I fell in love with the book and I began to read faster and faster. If you feel the need for something different, I would say: ' try this one'. Not like any other book I read.

[Nicole~ · Rating 5 out of 5]

'We're coming, we're coming,' somebody said. ' You're ready, aren't you?'

Vesaas's poetic words, as they flit and float within the currents of Mattis's uncomplicated mind, as he struggles to articulate them meaningfully, have proven that beauty of nature, nature's beings and the nature of one's being might simply be understood, less from the spoken word, if one would stop to quietly listen. Mattis, who exists naturally, with the emptiness many take several life cycles to achieve, is Vesaas's example of this.

I HAVE NOTHING to add to the already present glowing reviews of this novel, that would not be insufficient or superfluous, but for this treasure found in the poem by the same name, inspired by this novel and written by Tarjei's wife, Halldis Moren Vesaas.

The Birds

All day long I listened
to the rushing wings over my head.
High in the sun-blue air
a flock of birds flew their unburdened flight.
Today I thought once
that one of them was sinking down
as if wanting to be my guest.

I thought I heard a pair of wings
standing out among the others
rowing hastily toward me.
Thus among all of them
was a bird that was mine and I opened
every door, every window in my home.

Perhaps it was only a small, grey bird,
but with bright eyes and warm, soft feathers
and driven by impatience
toward the heart that waited just for him,
as a dry river bed
waits to be flooded.

...

Closer, closer the sound of wings,
like a beating heart
- stopping suddenly; was the bird
standing still on my roof?

Then the fresh sounds, as if the heart
started to beat again,
but faster now and fainter
and further and further away

until it swings around anew:
the rush of thousand beating wings.
I know now that the bird will
not roost with me today.
...

Dusk falls. High in the sun-red air
the passage of birds as before.
Down here the shadows have taken my house.
It still is waiting with open windows
and open door.

My feet are heavy and tied to the earth.
Soon I can no longer glimpse the birds
that freely roam the air.

But now when they swing around again
they burst out in song
so that the evening sun glows warmer.

Who are you who dared to call
one of these birds your own...

Cited in The North American Review, Vol. 257, No.1 (Spring, 1972), p.59

[Max · Rating 5 out of 5]

Die sprachlich schönste Geschichte der letzten Zeit, Mattis kommt uns ganz nah, ohne dass wir ihn zu fassen kriegen.
Er wird uns dadurch selbst zu einem Symbol, wie er sie um sich herum wahrnimmt, ohne sie ihrerseits deuten und fassen zu können. Was ist Mattis alles?

Ist Mattis ein Urdichter, ein hochsensorisch Wahrnehmender, der in unverbrauchten Worten dem Leben nachschmeckt?
Ist er ein modernes, singuläres Individuum, umgeben vom Desinteresse des norwegischen Dorfes, dessen Randfigur er ist?
Ist er der Klotz für Schwester Hege, die sich seit dem Tod der Eltern um den Bruder kümmern muss und insgeheim davon träumt, unabhängig zu leben, mit 40 vielleicht doch einen Zipfel Liebesglück zu erfahren?
Und wie nehmen wir denn überhaupt die Welt wahr?

Vesaas vernebelt seine Figur nicht etwa, im Gegenteil. Mattis öffnet sich vor uns in all seinem Staunen gegenüber der Welt, in seiner Scham gegenüber den "klugen" Dorfbewohnern, deren Arbeitsleistung und geschmeidige soziale Interaktion er nicht erreichen kann. Gleichzeitig sieht Mattis mehr als die Nachbarn, mehr als Hege.

Doch präzise formulieren, wofür die Naturschönheiten und Erfahrungen stehen, das kann Mattis auch nicht.
Und so erleben wir mit Mattis zwei junge Frauen im See, das Gewitter über dem Land, einen Vogel, der über die Hütte fliegt, in der Hege und Mattis leben. Zeichen der Wende, kostbare Momente. Mattis ahnt, dass etwas kommt, er wird sein können, wer er ist. Die Natur wird zur Prophezeiung der inneren Glückshoffnung, weil die Funktionalität des Alltags Mattis abschreckt.

Wir staunen, wie ein Mann darum ringt, das Verborgene und Eigentliche in der Welt zu entdecken und wie er sich gleichzeitig müht, den Menschen sein Eigentliches, nicht den "Dussel" zu zeigen.
Weil sich Vessas nicht über seine Figur erhebt, weil diese sozial so beschränkt wie poetisch frei erscheint, dürfen wir Mattis bewundern oder bedauern.
Der Wunsch nach der Verbindung mit der Welt - Vesaas Mattis ist ein einzigartiger Typ, den man nicht mehr vergessen wird.

[Lee Klein · Rating 5 out of 5]

A masterpiece, among the best short novels I've read. Essentially three stories, classically constructed or at least perfectly so: an introduction (the woodcock story, clearing out turnip rows), a highpoint (Anna and Inger and the boat on the lake), a fall (Jorgen/the resolution). Other than the first few short chapters introducing the brother and sister and their world, I was entirely engaged and engrossed. Had a similar experience with The Ice Palace, probably the last pre-pandemic novel I read -- I had trouble acclimating to the language, the translation, the world, poetic bursts, but it ultimately took off and came to life. This one too -- once the woodcock appeared and Mathis set out looking for work, it was on. Reminded me somewhat of Hamsun's Pan, the same sort of psychic charge but without lurking unreliable mysticism. The author seems absent but fully inhabits the few characters and the world, which again is supported in my imagination by Hamsun, particularly Growth of the Soil, although this is probably one of the best short novels focused on what today would be called an autistic or neurodivergent character -- in the novel Mathis is called Simple Simon. Anyone with experience of autism will recognize his behavior. But it's not all pathological difficulty with interpersonal interactions and a preference for the world of his imagination. His experience of nature, particularly his love for the woodcock or time rowing on the lake, his extreme sensitivity to the natural world and his innocent curiosity and desire to connect, infects the reader, or at least I've felt like the novel has sharpened my perception, pretty much the highest possible accolade for a work of art.

[nastya · Rating 4 out of 5]

A quiet melancholy story from the point of view of a mentally disabled middle-aged man who lives with his tired depressed sister in rural Norway. His frustration of not being able to express his feelings and thoughts in a "clever way" is always palpable. He’s very sensitive to the abuse of others and every crumb of kindness from people around him fills him with joy. He is often confused with his emotions and feelings.

Then one day a stranger comes into the house where he lives with his sister and everything rapidly changes. He’s losing her and he’s not capable of dealing with it.

This is a very slow and atmospheric novel and Mattis is a special character. I was at first frustrated with him just as he was frustrated with himself and by the end I felt deep affinity towards him.

And the imagery is gorgeous, there’s a very prominent lake in the story and it was vivid in my mind.

Beautiful, precious work from an important writer of Norway.

[Argos · Rating 4 out of 5]

Orta yaşlarda öksüz iki kardeşin yaşamlarından kısa bir bölümün anlatıldığı çok basit bir hikaye olarak özetlenebilir. Hikayenin iki kahramanı var, yarısından sonra bir kişi daha katılıyor aralarına. Erkek kardeşin saf ve ağır işleyen zekasına nazire yaparcasına basit ve saf cümleler ile ablanın çalışkan ve koruyucu yapısına uyan cümleler, oldukça farklı bir kurgu ile üç bölümde yazılarak ortaya ilginç ve keyifle okunan bir roman çıkmış. Aslında çoğumuz zaman zaman Mattis’leşiyoruz, ya da Mattis gibi davranmayı yadırgamıyoruz. Eser gerçekten basit gibi görünse de bitirince bunun aldatıcı olduğunu, sizi karakterler üzerinden düşünmeye yönlendirdiğini farkediyorsunuz. Öneririm.

[Fiona · Rating 4 out of 5]

Mattis has learning difficulties. His very low IQ makes it difficult for him to communicate. He is constantly bewildered by the behaviour and conversation of others. We spend the whole book in his head, trying to make sense of the world, trying to say what he wants to say so that others understand, frustrated that others - the clever people - can’t follow what he means.

Mattis lives with his sister, Hege, who cares for him and provides for them both by knitting jumpers. Mattis tries to earn money but can’t follow simple instructions and so few people will give him a chance any more. When Joergen appears in their lives, he brings disruption to Mattis’s world and happiness to Hege‘s in equal measure.

In many ways, this is a difficult and disturbing book to read. Mattis is so vulnerable that we worry for him all the time. The tone of the book is menacing - the death of the woodcock that gives him so much pleasure, his fear of thunderstorms, his complicated feelings about women. It’s clear that all is not going to end well and we feel helpless watching him struggle to make sense of his thoughts and emotions. It’s a compelling and very moving story by an author I’d never heard of before. The translation is a little bit clunky at times and the painting on the cover inappropriate, in my opinion, but neither detracts from the book itself. 4.5 stars.

[Matt · Rating 5 out of 5]

Simple in its prose, easy to follow, yet evocative, multilayered, metaphorical and brilliantly executed.

I’m afraid that’s all I can say about this gem of a novel. The main character’s only flaw, if you want to call it that, is his lack of communication skills with the people around him.

And that’s the same problem I have right now. The impressions the book has left on me are located somewhere between my emotional centre and my intellect. Putting them into words would mean to distort them. Let’s leave it at that.



This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

[Laubythesea · Rating 4 out of 5]

‘Los pájaros’ es una novela de 1957 muy querida y reputada dentro de las letras noruegas, y ahora también tiene un huequito especial en mi corazón.

Nos traslada a una Noruega rural, a los márgenes de una pequeña población donde los hermanos Mattis y Hege viven apartados del resto. Esto es muy simbólico, ya que no se trata solo de la distancia física, sino que ese estar en los márgenes del pueblo refleja su posición en la sociedad, debido principalmente a Mattis, al que todos conocen como El Simplón.

Mattis es una persona neurodivergente y su forma de entender y relacionarse con la naturaleza, clima y animales, muestra como es de todo menos “simple”.
Su pensamiento se rige sobre todo por lo sensorial, lo asociativo y no sigue las reglas sociales establecidas, creándose así esa grieta entre los demás y él.

Llegamos a sus vidas de repente, sin contexto ninguno, pero la actitud de Hege denota agotamiento. Los cuidados no permiten descanso y ella, entendemos, lleva toda la vida al cargo de su hermano. Mattis es incapaz de mantener ningún trabajo por lo que sobreviven con lo que ella consigue tejiendo, lo cual es una situación bastante precaria e inestable.

Una serie de sucesos que comienzan con la aparición de una becada que vuela sobre su casa, harán tambalearse el equilibro en la vida de Mattis y poco a poco va creándose una tensión, una amenaza de tormenta, que no sabes por dónde va a estallar.

Uno de los temas que más me ha conmovido de la novela es la soledad no buscada y su miedo al abandono. El mundo de Mattis es muy reducido, su casa y la naturaleza que les rodea. Y la única persona que tiene es su hermana. Sin embargo, Mattis tiene una gran inquietud por socializar. Cuando está con gente con la que se siente cómodo, son momentos donde disfruta genuinamente, si bien quizá crea situaciones algo incómodas al no entender del todo los códigos sociales. Igualmente, impactante ver los muros que levantamos contra lo diferente.

‘Los pájaros’ parece un libro sencillo, pero en realidad es profundo y potente, lleno de simbolismos y prefiguraciones. Una obra muy introspectiva, donde los silencios y conversaciones interrumpidas tienen mucha presencia; los personajes tienen dificultades para expresar lo que sienten. La naturaleza tiene una presencia abrumadora y la conexión que Mattis tiene con ella es muy especial.


Una novela que habla sobre la diferencia y nos pone un espejo al que duele mirarse delante. Es cruda en relación con el peso de los cuidados y pone de manifiesto los deseos también válidos de emancipación de Hege.

En ‘Los pájaros’ hay tanto que no se dice… y al mismo tiempo, todo se entiende.

[Hakan · Rating 5 out of 5]

bir başyapıt. yalın bir dil, baştan sona merak ve gerilimin eksilmediği bir hikaye ve kolay kolay unutulmayacak bir kahraman..

hayata çocuk gözleriyle bakan, kendinden başka herkesi bilge, güçlü ve güzel gören mattis'in düşüncelerini, hayallerini ve korkularını aktarmakla kalmıyor norveçli yazar, hissettiriyor. deliyse mattis, deliliği...norveç ormanlarında ablasıyla birlikte yaşayan mattis'le hayatın hiçbir yerde, hiçbir şekilde basit ve kolay olmadığını, hiç kimsenin tamamıyla iyi, haklı ya da suçlu olmadığını gösteriyor. kuşlar, çok az kişiyle ve çok küçük bir yerde anlatılan büyük bir hikaye aslında. herhangi bir yerde ve zamanda yaşanan ve yaşanacak olan.

son olarak "büyük" yayıncıların ıskaladığı bu başyapıtı türkçeye kazandıran timaş yayınlarına ve kusursuz çevirisi için deniz canefe'ye teşekkür etmek gerek. deniz canefe sadece romanı norveççeden türkçeye aktarmamış, türkçenin gücünü ve güzelliğini gösteren bir çalışmaya imza atmış.

[Korcan Derinsu · Rating 5 out of 5]

Çok beğendim. Kuşlar, sakin görünen ama okuru her an merakta tutan, içten içe gerilimle ilerleyen bir roman. Tarjei Vesaas insan ruhunun en kırılgan yerlerini incelikle anlatıyor ve sesini yükseltmeden, gösterişe kaçmadan muazzam bir dünya yaratıyor. Mattis’in dünyayla kurduğu kırılgan ilişki, hayata olan hassas bakışı, doğayla kurduğu tutkulu ilişki ve yalnızlığı çok etkileyici.

[Caterina · Rating 5 out of 5]

4.5/5. It's rare to discover a book (and author!) with such lyrical, spare prose, like poetry, that conjures up a fully convincing view -- from the inside -- of the interior life of someone who is "differently abled" and his troubled relationships with those around him, especially those who love and care for him but can't help but be burdened by the challenges of his behavior. A compassionate, psychologically astute tale of great beauty but also extremely distressing.

There is also something about Mattis, this "simple," childlike man in his 30s who must be supported by his 40-year-old sister -- his mind caught up in daydreams, focused on the lives of woodland birds, a magical thinker, unable to manage useful productive work -- that resonates with the mind and life of an artist, a writer -- perhaps a reader of this kind of book -- anyone who sees the world differently or struggles to relate to the priorities and customs of society. Anyone who sometimes, like Mattis, thinks or even exclaims in astonishment: You don't understand what's important at all! -- while at the same time being acutely aware that these things that are most important from his perspective do not put food on his table. I don't know if the term "differently abled" is in current use, but I think it's a good one, because, despite his very serious intellectual and practical disabilities, Mattis also possesses gifts and abilities -- most beautifully, of seeing the natural world in ways that others do not.