Bragi studied Spanish at the University of Iceland and the University of Granada. He has had a number of different jobs in Reykjavík, at the post office, in a bank and in a record store. He was also a member of the Sugarcubes, and toured with them in Europe and America. Bragi's first published work, the poetry collection Dragsúgur (Draught), appeared in 1986. Since then, he has published other books of poetry, short story collections, plays and novels. His first novel, Hvíldardagar (Days of Repose) was nominated for the Icelandic Literary Prize in 1999 and the next one, Gæludýrin (The Pets) also in 2001. He received the DV Cultural Prize for the novel Samkvæmisleikir (Party Games) in 2004 and his novel Sendiherrann (The Ambassador) was nominated for the Nordic Council's Literature Prize in 2008. Bragi is one of the founders of the publishing company Smekkleysa (Bad Taste) which has mostly put out music and organised various kinds of events.
The Pets by Bragi Ólafsson - one of the oddest existential novels you'll ever encounter. Two authors, João Reis and Peter Cherches, let me know they love this novel. I can see why.
At his apartment in Reykjavík, Bragi Ólafsson told an interviewer: “With each book, I know less and less who’s doing the writing. There are always fragments of me in my characters, particularly my protagonists, but I’ve never gone so far as to look at a character and say: That’s me! Getting so entangled in their lives and inner lives sometimes makes me believe that I’m a more complex person than I actually am, but by now I can’t point at a single character and claim that it originated within me. I just don’t know any more.”
The Pets is a quirky novel most captivating. In the opening chapter main character Emil Halldorsson tells us he's just returned from his buying binge in London (he recently won the lottery) to his apartment in Reykjavík. He's informed by Tomas, his neighbor, that there was a man in an anorak pounding on his front door earlier in the day.
Who could it be? Emil thinks it might have been Sigurvin, an old work mate or Jaime, a friend from Chile. Anyway, Emil enters his apartment and reflects back on the details of his flight from London and then puts on a CD and leaves a message on linguist Armann Valur's answering machine informing him that he mistakenly picked up Armann's eyeglasses case when he was sitting next to him on the airplane.
Bragi Ólafsson builds suspense thusly: all the odd number chapters of Part One feature Emil recounting his travels from London, especially his meeting a young lady by the name of Greta he's been thinking about for the past fifteen years, a time when Greta emerged from a bedroom fling during a teenage party. The even number chapters chronicle the movements of the mysterious man in the anorak from the time he banged on Emil's door to his reappearance at Emil's apartment.
Part Two opens with Emil recognizing the mystery man in the anorak pounding on his front door yet again as none other than Havard Knutsson, the guy who joined him at a London flat five years ago with disastrous consequences (Havard killed the four animals Emil had responsibility for taking care of). Emil also knows Havard committed other acts of violence (against humans) and has spent the past five years in a Swedish mental institution.
Emil doesn't answer the door but Havard isn't about to go away - Emil watches as Havard climbs in through his kitchen window. Emil promptly scurries to his bedroom and hides under his bed.
And that's where Emil spends the rest of the novel - voyeuristically peeking out from under his bed, beneath overhanging sheets, watching Havard and then a string of others who enter his apartment, among their number: Armann, Greta, Sigurvin, Jaime.
What goes through Emil's mind now that he's a bona fide voyeur? I'll link my comments with Emil's ruminations:
"And at the same time I wonder why the hell one ever wants to get to know other people, or let them take advantage of oneself."
An individual's anxiety, dread, alienation along with an examination of their relationship and responsibility to others play a prominent role in existential literature and these themes are front and center in The Pets.
"I suddenly realize very clearly the ridiculous position I am in and carry on thinking about the problems that one creates for oneself by getting to know various people. One shouldn't let others into one's life."
Georges Simenon wrote dozens of his romans durs, that is, "hard" psychological novels that pushed his protagonist to the edge. In a number of ways, this Bragi Ólafsson tale reminds me of Simenon, however even Simenon didn't come up with anything near as farcical as having his main character's existential crisis occur when hiding under a bed! Bragi, you win the gold metal for originality.
"I still can't believe it. I tell myself that I may be having a nightmare. But just maybe. There is so little chance that it is impossible. In other words, it is reality. It is reality with a capital R; the most emphatic R I have ever experienced in reality."
Emphatic and intense - in this way, Emil shares much with narrator Ishmael from Herman Melville's Moby Dick. Many are the references, both direct and indirect, to Moby Dick in The Pets. As to how and why this is the case, you'll have to read for yourself.
"All at once I feel it is worthwhile huddling here under the bed - it's as if this pathetic confinement has suddenly acquired a purpose."
Ha! Perhaps there's a connection between Emil's voyeurism and the aesthetic distance one needs in order to better appreciate a work of art or drama. I frequently imagined Emil as a one-man audience watching live theater in his very own apartment. Or, perhaps I should say, as one reviewer noted, Emil observing animals in a zoo. Or, maybe a combination of both as in Desmond Morris's The Human Zoo.
"Is the eccentric up there playing with me?"
Emil makes occasional references to God, curious references, that might be lighthearted or somewhat serious. Thus, in a peculiar way, The Pets borders on religious existentialism in the spirit of Gabriel Marcel or Martin Buber. Am I joking? Pick up a copy and judge for yourself.
wheres my denoument?? i am too unsophisticated to enjoy books that just... end. until the end (and im not spoiling anything because everyone else has commented on the lack of resolution, so s'okay)but until the end i was really enjoying the way the narrative was unspooling, and i was engaged in reading to find out what was going to happen to this poor man. i guess i am not bjork enough for this. fact.
Emil vuelve contento de su viaje de Londres a su casa de Reykjavik, Islandia; más allá de algunas molestias del viaje, está contento de estar en casa, y con la perspectiva de encontrarse con Gretta, una bella joven con la que hizo amistad en el avión. Al llegar, a través de su vecino, recibe algunas señales de alerta, respecto a un intruso merodeando su casa, aunque no le presta demasiada atención. Posteriormente, los hechos se irán desarrollando de una manera en que, con un encadenamiento perfectamente lógico, se va construyendo una situación absurda, tragicómica, ante la cual es preferible dejarse llevar, y disfrutar. Una novela entretenida, y de alta calidad; muy bien escrita, y con una trama que hace parecer todo como inevitable. La he disfrutado mucho.
Bu aralar okuduğum en keyifli kitaptı, sonu bu kadar müphem kalmasaydı 5 yıldız da verebilirdim. Londra seyahatinden dönen Emil ve ısrarlı ziyaretçisi Havard. Havard evde olmadığını sansın diye yatağın altına girmek pek akıllıca bir fikir olmayabiliyor Emil :) Okuyun, eğleneceksiniz...
The Swedish Academy’s Horace Engdahl recently asserted that "The U.S. is too isolated, too insular. They don't translate enough and don't really participate in the big dialogue of literature…” The statement may have ruffled those hoping to see Roth or DeLillo finally honored, but Engdahl makes a valid point. Out of the 290,000 books published in the U.S. last year, only about 350 were new works in translation. (This is, of course, a loose estimate—no one’s keeping exact records.)
In response to this longstanding trend of literary xenophobia, the University of Rochester launched Open Letter, a press dedicated entirely to translated literature. Their first season of releases is an excellent primer for the reader looking to expand her horizons, particularly Bragi Ólafsson’s absurdist comedy (and possibly the funniest novel to be narrated from under a bed), The Pets.
Emil S. Halldorsson is a man beset by happenstance. He’s just happened to win a million króna in the Icelandic lottery, just happened to meet a woman on a plane who he’s “adored from a distance for nearly fifteen years,” and just happened to walk off with the eyeglasses of an eccentric linguist. But none of these random occurrences are nearly as disruptive to Emil’s apathetic existence as the arrival of Havard Knutsson, an Id-fueled persona non grata who literally drives Emil into hiding.
As Havard wreaks havoc on Emil’s life—breaking into his home, rifling through his belongings, inviting strangers over, and compromising his romantic relationships—Ólafsson creates a strangely sympathetic Catch-22. Having hidden from Havard rather than confronting him in the first place, it becomes increasingly difficult for Emil to take any action at all. “I have become the guilty party…” he laments, even as his invader helps himself to cognac and cigars.
And yet, the reader is also forced to consider Emil’s complicity, the responsibility that he bears for his own undoing. “Why on earth don’t I do something? What is wrong with me?” Emil bemoans, a pitiful (but certainly relatable) picture of self-loathing inaction.
Delightfully funny and unexpectedly complex, The Pets introduces American readers to a fresh voice and perspective, and provides ample incentive for us to crawl out from under the bed.
I suddenly realize very clearly the ridiculous position I am in and carry on thinking about the problems that one creates for oneself by getting to know various people. One shouldn’t let others into one’s life.
Emil is quite passive. One could even call him a coward. His nemesis Havard has a slightly more offensive and pejorative world to describe his timidity but you get the point. Emil goes through life with his record collection, a girlfriend he doesn’t feel particularly strongly about but is too lazy to break up with, and no particular drive to do much of anything. On a flight back to his native Iceland, we see just how passively annoying Emil can be when he is seated next to a chatty passenger who rather than tell he’d rather not talk, lets himself be chatted up for four hours, all the while complaining to himself silently. Enduring conversation such as:
“Armann tapped the tape player on my table and then pointed at the text in the book. He read out: ’Since the Sony Walkman was introduced, no one has been sure whether two of them should be Walkmen or Walkmans’. He looked at me and asked if I had ever considered it. I shook my head. Then he carried on: ‘(The nonsexist alternative), that’s in brackets here’, he added, ‘(The nonsexist alternative Walkpersons would leave us on the hook, because we would be faced with a choice between Walkpersons and Walkpeople)’. He stopped reading out loud but stared at the page as if he was still reading silently. He nodded, looked at me and then at the educated woman, no doubt hoping that she was listening too. ‘That’s a question’, he said. ‘Yes, it is a question’, I agreed.”.
On top of this, Emil thinks he recognizes a woman he recalls from a brief encounter about a decade earlier when they were both teenagers and he saw her coming out of a room with an older boy, hair tousled and clearly fresh from…well…Emil fills in the blanks. Emil of course cannot summon the courage to talk to her at first, yet somehow bungles his way into her agreeing to call him later that day. Emil’s timidity however reaches its zenith in the hyper-id, mentally unstable, manifestation of Havard. Havard is everything Emil is not. Where Emil shies from confrontation and doesn’t want to make people uncomfortable, even at the expense of his own comfort, Havard revels in making people uncomfortable. It is perhaps no surprise then that as the first half of the story sees the narration alternate between the two as their paths come closer and closer to intersecting, despite not knowing fully what their relationship to each other is, that when they do finally cross paths no good can come of it. The suspense of the first half of the novel gives way to a menacing and surrealist black comedy of sorts reminiscent of Harold Pinter’s “The Room” with the uninvited guest from hell who invites other uninvited people with Emil powerless to take any action to stop it. Without giving away the ending, I’ll just say that it’s all terribly clever and that Olafsson employed the perfect metaphor for how Emil experiences what is happening to him. While the ending is a little unsatisfying in its open endedness, it’s for me at least relatively clear where it’s going in that Emil’s lack of agency in life was always going to lead to where he finds himself.
I have found he perfect book. Not only does it not end just like I asked but it is constantly entertaining, and it implies sexual acts. Yes, yes, I know, but I swear it does. everyone in the book is completely insane. Since when is it reasonable to climb through a window? no never I don't care if there is a coffee pot on the burner, in fact why is there a coffee pot on the burner in the first place.
I learned a lot from this book. Do not put the glasses of the guy next to you on a plane in your pocket. Do not tell people when you are coming home from vacation because everyone will come over. Do not take requests for presents.
İslandiya ədəbiyyatı barədə ümidlərimi artırdı. Bundan öncə Sjon hər iki kitabıyla çiyritmişdi. Bu kitab daha hərəkətli, daha maraqlıdı, sadəcə kitabda bir şeylər əskik idi. Danışırdı, maraqlı danışırdı, amma əldə bir şey qalmırdı. Kitabın kuliminasiyası, mesajı, mahiyyəti çatışmır. Üslub əladı, dialoqlar əladı, amma kitab sonda iz qoymur. Öz dilimizdə görmək istəyəcəyim qədər yaxşı kitab deyil.
Evcil Hayvanlar, gözden kaçan eğlenceli kitaplardan… Yazarı, aynı zamanda Björk’ün solisti olduğu Sugercubes’un basçısı olunca kitap da müzikten payını bolca alıyor. Kar, soğuk ve İzlanda özlemi çekenler, havaalanlarının hayallerini kuranlar, klostrofobiye kafa tutanlar, sonunda yazarın okuyucuya tabiri caizse nanik yapmasına göz yumanlar ve biraz da kafa dağıtan eğlenceli bir şeyler okusam ya diye düşünenler buyursun.
Tam olarak arka kapaktaki vaatle gelen beklentim karşılanmasa da çok değişik ve sıradışı bir konu ve işleyiş olduğunu düşünüyorum. Koşun gidn okuyun diyemem ama fırsatınız olunca şans verin derim.
Miklu betri en Hvíldardagar sem ég fílaði ekki. Aðalpersónurnar eru reyndar keimlíkar; Emil er daufur óöruggur væskill og því býsna óspennandi. Spennan er hins vegar fengin með atburðarásinni og hinum persónunum.
hey, did you know an ex-sugarcube, of the great band sugarcubes, wrote this book? i didn't know this until i finished this book. i actually picked this book up on a whim when i had to stay overnight at the travelodge due to snowy weather... i have to read before i go to bed, and the night at the travelodge was an unexpected stop. i picked up this book because i liked the cover and because to the best of my knowledge, i've never read an icelandic author before. this might not be true. but, wow, how enjoyable. the plot is simple, and if i go into much more explanation, i'll actually give away bits and pieces that should just be experienced. there is no deep examination of the human psyche, read this for the sheer enjoyment of being introduced someone whose life is worse that yours. or at least is a worse person than you are.
Definitely quirky, dark, and slightly strange. At first I was incredibly irritated by the ending but after thinking about it, I do now see (I think) what the author was getting at. Even so, the book commits the sin of the blurb giving away far too much of the plot. Ultimately, the biggest draw for me was knowing some of the streets in Reykjavik where it was set. Otherwise, unless you too have ambled along Grettisgata... maybe give this one a miss.
I'm so sick of books that don't have a proper ending. Is it too much to ask to see a freaking plot resolve at the end of a book? No, I don't wanna use my imagination. No, I don't want to dream my own ending. Just no.
Great writing, very interesting topic, yadda yadda yadda. Completely ruined by a non-existing ending.
One of the oddest, most enjoyable books I've read in a while. It's more a thought experiment than a novel-length story. With a title that's just plain, well, odd. Who are the pets? And what is their significance by the story's ending? I highly recommend you read this slim Icelandic work. And then, let's talk about it over a glass of cognac and some music by Mahler. Because what the fukc.
Quizás sea la pregunta que se hacen todos: ¿qué piensan los demás sobre mí? Leí una vez, no recuerdo dónde (o acaso lo haya visto en una película o escuchado en la radio) que la fantasía de todo ser humano es ver quiénes van a su funeral y qué dicen sobre él. Este libro habla sobre eso, un poco.
La historia va así: Emil se gana la lotería y se va a Londres de compras. Vuelve a su casa en Reykjavik y, justo cuando está por sentarse a disfrutar de sus compras (cds, libros, whisky, cigarros), llega a su casa una visita sorpresiva e indeseable: Hávarđur, un ex compañero de trabajo con el que además compartió departamento un tiempo. Todos conocemos a alguien como Hávarđur: esa persona que no te explicás cómo es que sea una persona tan desastrosa y sin embargo no lo haya atropellado una manada de elefantes. Hávarđur es el típico hombre que vos te lo imaginás viviendo abajo de un puente y comiendo sobras, pero que sin embargo tiene un techo y tiene dinero suficiente para pagarse los vicios (y no tenés forma de saber cómo lo hace). Emil sólo quería estar en paz, así que no abre la puerta. Y para que Hávarđur no lo vea, decide esconderse. Hávarđur no acepta el no como respuesta y directamente se mete en la casa de Emil por la ventana de la cocina; el dueño de casa decide esconderse abajo de la cama, confiado de que el intruso eventualmente se va a ir. Como si fuera una comedia de enredos, va cayendo cada vez más gente a la casa buscando a Emil y encontrando en cambio a Hávarđur, que los recibe como si fuera el anfitrión. Emil no puede ver nada de lo que pasa desde abajo de la cama; sólo puede escuchar las conversaciones.
Contrariamente a lo que dicen la mayoría de las reviews, yo creo que el libro tiene un final fuerte, con un simbolismo fortísimo. Al comienzo la escritura es reeeee detallada, Ólafsson cuenta paso a paso, con una minuciosidad increíble, cualquier pavada; no se me hizo denso, sin embargo. Una vez que empieza la "acción", el libro adquiere otro ritmo.
Todo el tiempo me imaginé la novela como una obra de teatro, donde el espectador pudiera ver sólo la habitación, donde está Emil abajo de la cama, y todo lo que pasa en el resto de la casa queda a su imaginación. Re da que hagan una obra así.
The Pets by Bragi Ólafsson (in a translation by Janice Balfour) is a surprising, funny ultimately deeply disconcerting little book. It is not surprising that the former bassist of The Sugarcubes would make his main character a music lover and reference bits of music and bands though out his novel what is surprising is that he would also create such a darkly comic and anxiety-driven story.
Emil Haldorsson is returning from London after having won the lottery and gone on a musical shopping spree. On the plane he meets Greta, a woman he has admired from afar for years, and in spite of having a girlfriend invites her over. In alternate chapters his former acquaintance and former mental patient, Harvard Knutsson, is steadily approaching Emil’s home.
Ólafsson skillfully uses the alternating narrative to create a growing sense of anxiety, and to slowly unfold the story of Emil and Harvard’s disastrous pet sitting in London some years earlier. Ólafsson manages to create dread in even ordinary gestures so that by the time Emil has hid under his apartment bed to avoid seeing Harvard and then must overhear a bizarre sort of party as Emil invites over friends and strangers to his apartment, the angst is palpable and hints at larger fears about identity and sanity.
I suspect that because I am not familiar with Icelandic, I may have failed to appreciate the little linguistic subtleties hiding in the deceptively simple writing-style. The pets are named for Moby Dick and Moby Dick is the book Harvard stole. Emil has bought a book on the whaling ship Essex and considers how his own name is an anagram of Ishmael.
I suspect the lack of transparency and enigmatic ending may frustrate some readers but those who are comfortable with ambiguity and a dose of self-deprecating humor will find The Pets an engaging read. It is appropriate that Ólafsson translated Paul Auster into Icelandic. I suspect fans of Auster will find much to enjoy in Ólafsson.
Open Letter Books is a branch of the University of Rochester Press devoted to new translations and I look forward to seeing what other titles they will produce.
I'm not quite sure what to think of this book. I've had no exposure to Icelandic literature or humor, but I didn't find any of it confusing. The Pets is about a man (Emil) that comes home from a trip, and when an old friend of his that had been in a mental institution knocks on his door, he hides under the bed. The other man climbs through the window, and then over the course of a few hours, more people show up and they have a party, all while Emil is hiding under the bed. The other characters are very peculiar, for instance, the one that had been in a mental institution, Havard, ejaculates into Emil's sink while moaning Emil's wife's name. Yes, this book is very bizarre.
One thing I noticed I was doing was anticipating the ending, but I wouldn't recommend focusing only on the ending and what you think is going to happen because what happens is not what you will expect. I can see how some people would be disappointed in this, but for me, it was just cut short a bit because it would have created an unfitting final scene.
This is a funny, quirky, bizarre book that comes from a very imaginative mind. I think this would make a very funny movie or play, but if presented in play form it would be difficult because most of the book Emil is only hearing what is going on and seeing only a few things.
This was one of the strangest books I've ever read. I saw it at the library and thought, "I've never read an Icelandic book." The situation in the book gets more and more bizarre as it goes on. If you are looking for a traditional novel, this is not it. That said, it kept me reading til the end to find out what would happen. I'll not spoil it for the few people who will read this book by telling what does happen.
Var fyrir miklum vonbriðum með þesssa bók. Nokkrir sem ég þekki halda mikið upp á þessa bók en ekki ég. Hún byrjaði vel, góður texti, auðvelt að lesana, skemmtilegt flugvéla atriði, en svo byrjar langavitleysan. Maður er haldin í gíslingu undir sæng í hálfa bókina og eina sem maður heyrir er leiðinleg samtöl drukkina manna. Já, tvær stjörnurnar eru fyrir texta og frumlegheit en þetta hefði átt að vera smásaga 30-50 bls. max!
DISCLAIMER: I am the publisher of the book and thus spent approximately two years reading and editing and working on it. So take my review with a grain of salt, or the understanding that I am deeply invested in this text and know it quite well. Also, I would really appreciate it if you would purchase this book, since it would benefit Open Letter directly.
Lo compré por la tapa hermosa y el exotismo. Me sorprendió que en la hermana Islandia también los personajes se vean envueltos en las cosas por la fuerza de los acontecimientos y terminen en situaciones imposibles sin casi extrañarse. No podía faltar la mención a la Argentina, que aparece nada menos que a través de Carlos Saúl.
The ending (or non-ending?) made me feel like the author wrote himself into a bit of a corner, so he just took off running away from the whole book. But: everything up til then was so good that it doesn't really matter.
This is a pleasingly strange novel from a former bass guitar player in an Icelandic group called the Sugar Cubes. It reminds me of the very humorous Finnish writer, Arto Paasilinna. He has a straightforward style, and the knack of being humorous without having to try. There are two concurrent narratives, which merge about half way in.
Emil, is an average guy in his mid-thirties who has a son in Denmark from a past relationship and a friend in Akureyri, who is almost, but not quite, his girlfriend. He has a love of music and travels to London to buy lots of CDs after winning the lottery.
Meanwhile, Hávardur is an unpleasant sort who carries a mysterious plastic bag around Reykjavík as he searches for his friends. As none of them are at home in the middle of the day, he wanders around the city center, leaving a trail of unease.
As Emil settles down with his 36 new CDs, there is a knock on the door. Peering through the curtains, he recognises Hávardur, the erratic and violent drunk who, while helping Emil pet-sit in London years before, disappeared with two valuable items after having managed to kill three of the four animals in their care.
This is an innovative and memorable piece of writing. It’s elusive and compelling, and humorous but in a dark way, and yet has an odd charm to it.
This book is about nasty people: people who don't leave you in peace (for example when you want to read your book in the airplane and the guy next to you keeps trying to engage you in conversation), or people who want something from you (money, or that even more precious phenomenon, time). And often, instead of getting angry and being nasty yourself, you endure such people out of a sort of lazy masochism (hoping they go away of their own accord). In the book, Emil has the above airplane experience when he returns from London to Reykjavik. But at home a much nastier experience lies in wait: Havard, a sinister lout from his past, shows up on his doorstep, and Emil does the only sensible thing he can think of: he hides under his bed. But Havard doesn't take no for an answer and breaks into Emil's house, where he makes himself comfortable by enjoying the large amount of liquor Emil has just brought back from London. He even ends up hosting a party for Emil's friends, while Emil in question remains in hiding. From his position under the bed he has to live through all the outrages that take place. A hilarious novel with a dark undertone.
With a premise like this Bunuel or Pinter might have made a stark examination of bourgeoisie hypocrisies , but i was okay with this story of a man hiding under his bed while a unwanted party occurs being only mildly amusing. Falls short of greatness because the musings of the protagonist as he is trapped don't quite have the razor sharp quality of observation about modern life that other novels of this type have, and while one could potentially imagine various twists the premise might take, none really occur, so it almost felt too straightforward.