This short book of short stories was Per Petterson’s first publication in Norwegian, though not in English translation, where it followed some substantial novels. It might be thought of as apprenticeship work, but that would not be fair to the talent that could make these brief episodes ring with a multitude of sound and meaning. The stories are interconnected, chronologically following a small boy’s life, so that they are like fragments from a novel. Indeed, considering that fragmentation is a feature of many (post)modern novels, these 150 pages could be read as a novella with the reader making the connections.
Everything is small to the point of modesty. The small boy is Arvid, who lives with his small family in a small Norwegian town. Arvid would prefer not to go on growing – “I want to stay like I am now! Six and a half, that’s enough, isn’t it?” he says to his mother. But from Chekhov through Carver and on (and perhaps one should go backwards, too, to biblical parables), the best short story writers have shown that a large world can exist in a small compass – and Petterson is one of the best. The most dramatic events are a fist fight between Arvid’s father and uncle, grandfather’s funeral and the destruction of an old, decaying barn. But these events are bigger than they seem – like practically everything in the book.
The fight between the adult brothers arises from their frustration at the shrinking world they live in. Arvid’s father has lost his job in a shoe factory, where, as Arvid sees it, there is room for innovation and thought: “There was a lot to say about [shoes]. Gym shoes, smart shoes, ladies’ shoes, children’s shoes, ski boots, riding boots. Dad talked a lot about shoes, and he knew what he was talking about. But now it was over.” Like a little death. Dad would have to join Uncle Rolf in the toothbrush factory, and toothbrushes were much less interesting.
Grandfather’s funeral, described in “The Black Car”, the longest story in the book, is rich in symbolic detail. Now father and uncle were both fatherless and father, in particular, stumbled at the graveside.
But as the adult’s lives shrink, Arvid’s expands, in spite of himself. This is not an encouraging thing. Clambering on a bookshelf, he reaches for the ceiling but in doing so knocks a clock from the wall. Time smashes into fragments, “the scattered cogwheels and the two clock hands wobbling round in the meaningless void”. Arvid is too young to see the significance of this image from his future, but the reader can provide it for him. In another story Arvid creeps into an old barn but hears workmen there, “and then he saw a strip of light widen and then he knew. It was the wall, they were tearing down the wall.” The rubbishy old things are passing, but there is a strip of new light.
As the stories progress, Arvid sees increasing signs of age in the adults who make up his life. The only thing mentioned from outside the village is deep with menace – the Cuba crisis and the threat of nuclear war. At the thought of that, sensitive Arvid goes to bed and refuses to speak for four days – for what is the use if we are all to die soon? But the light continues to grow around him and to darken around the family he loves.