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Miłość
Miłość opowiada o Jonie i jego matce, Vibeke, którzy niedawno przeprowadzili się do maleńkiej miejscowości na północy kraju. Jon, niemogący się wręcz doczekać następnego dnia, w którym będzie obchodził dziewiąte urodziny i w którym ma się spełnić jego najskrytsze marzenie, wychodzi z domu w ciemny zimowy wieczór. Dom opuszcza również Vibeke, zmierzająca do biblioteki w poszukiwaniu książek "prawdziwszych niż samo życie". Czytelnik jest świadkiem wędrówki obojga przez zimowy, mroczny krajobraz; wędrówki, w trakcie której matka i syn nie spotkają się i której finał okaże się tragiczny.
Miłość to przejmująca opowieść o pragnieniu bliskości i odtrąceniu, o samotności i wyobcowaniu dziecka we współczesnym świecie, o poszukiwaniu romantycznego uczucia; pokazuje, jak za pomocą języka bohaterowie stwarzają własną rzeczywistość, w której równie daleko im do drugiej osoby, jak i do samych siebie.
Miłość to przejmująca opowieść o pragnieniu bliskości i odtrąceniu, o samotności i wyobcowaniu dziecka we współczesnym świecie, o poszukiwaniu romantycznego uczucia; pokazuje, jak za pomocą języka bohaterowie stwarzają własną rzeczywistość, w której równie daleko im do drugiej osoby, jak i do samych siebie.
128 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1997
105 people are currently reading
3855 people want to read
About the author
Hanne Ørstavik
36 books190 followersHanne Ørstavik (born 28 November 1969) is a Norwegian writer. She was born in Tana in Finnmark province in the far north of Norway, and moved to Oslo at the age of 16. Her parents are Wenche Ørstavik and Gunnar Ørstavik. She has two brothers, Paul Ørstavik and Sakse Ørstavik.She has one daughter, Mari Ørstavik. She has two nieces, Maisie and Helena, and two nephews, Murphy and Thomas. With the publication of the novel Hakk (Cut) in 1994, Ørstavik embarked on a career that would make her one of the most remarkable and admired authors in Norwegian contemporary literature. Her literary breakthrough came three years later with the publication of Kjærlighet (Love<?i>), which in 2006 was voted the 6th best Norwegian book of the last 25 years in a prestigious contest in Dagbladet. Since then she has written several acclaimed and much discussed novels and received a host of literary prizes.
In 2002, she was awarded the Dobloug Prize for her literary works, and in 2004, the Brage Prize for the novel Presten.
Ørstavik’s books have been translated into 15 languages.
(from Wikipedia)
In 2002, she was awarded the Dobloug Prize for her literary works, and in 2004, the Brage Prize for the novel Presten.
Ørstavik’s books have been translated into 15 languages.
(from Wikipedia)
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 518 reviews
January 12, 2018
Hanne Orstavik is a well known, prize winning Norwegian author and I thought this book would fit the bill when I was looking for something different to read. What I found was a hauntingly sad story of a single mother, Vibeke, and her eight year old son, Jon and the separate lives they live together. It’s appropriately dark and cold as the story takes place on a cold, dark night in a small village in Norway. The structure or rather lack of - what Jon is thinking and doing interspersed with paragraphs of what his mother Vibeke is thinking and doing and their respective conversations with the people they are with - is one you have to pay attention to. This makes for such an introspective and intimate book. It’s a short book, just 180 pages but it took me longer than I thought to read because I was almost afraid to know what was going happen as both mother and son go out into the night. Each of them meeting with strangers that had me scared for and questioning both of them. I did not connect with Vibke at all except that she is a big reader. Other than that I didn’t like her at all. Jon is only eight and all I could feel for him was heartbreak. Sometimes when I read a translation, I wonder if something gets missed, that nuance, that idiom that doesn’t have a true equivalent. It’s thought provoking in many ways and just so full of loneliness, it gave me pause. Several people have rated this highly but I have to admit that I didn’t love it.
I received an advanced copy of this book from Archipelago through NetGalley.
I received an advanced copy of this book from Archipelago through NetGalley.
December 6, 2017
After reading “Love” in one sitting in the middle of the night - (180 pages: Kindle for me), I had already slept from about 7pm to 1am- I stayed awake under the covers of my bed thinking about this novel for a good hour before falling back to sleep for another few hours.
This is my first read by author Scandinavian author Hanne Orstavik. Hopefully not my last! What I especially liked was all my own thinking intertwined throughout and then after I finished reading “Love”. I was examining this story from many points of views while being completely captivated by the content presented.
The story itself takes place during the middle of the night - just as my reading was.
It’s a quiet meditative type of read. A few times my own imagination raced ahead and got the better of me. There was one scene where I was scared - really scared — and it was my imagination... but then I had a hard time shaking my fears of ‘what if’.
Jon is 8 years old. He will be 9 tomorrow. He and his mother, Vibeke, live in a small town in northern Norway. They are new to the town, having just recently moved in.
A traveling carnival has come to town. Vibeke was on her way to the library - but they were closed - and ends at the carnival.
Jon also leaves the house to sell lottery tickets for his sports club.
We follow both of them during the night as they take very different journeys.
We meet the people each of come into contact with.
Jon is sure his mother is at home baking a cake for his birthday....with high hopes in getting a train set the next day.
As a single mother, Vibeke hasn’t much money....yet she has a lot of attention on looking good - would like to buy a new outfit - “she deserves it, with the move and all”. During a dinner scene — before their separate journeys begin — we see the inside thoughts of Vibeke: she doesn’t think her son’s stories have a point and “Can’t you just go, she thinks to herself. Find something to do, play or something”.
What stood out for me ( without giving this small story away) - is how innocent - vulnerable- pure - a child’s love can be for their parent ....under any circumstances. Yet underneath the surface we feel so many emotions....the loneliness.... sadness...longing: desire to be bathed in love.
I’m very glad I chose to read this book ....I thought it was gorgeously written...with concise compact sentences. I also love the book cover - Lovely
Thank You Netgalley, Archipelago Publishing, and Hanne Orstavik
This is my first read by author Scandinavian author Hanne Orstavik. Hopefully not my last! What I especially liked was all my own thinking intertwined throughout and then after I finished reading “Love”. I was examining this story from many points of views while being completely captivated by the content presented.
The story itself takes place during the middle of the night - just as my reading was.
It’s a quiet meditative type of read. A few times my own imagination raced ahead and got the better of me. There was one scene where I was scared - really scared — and it was my imagination... but then I had a hard time shaking my fears of ‘what if’.
Jon is 8 years old. He will be 9 tomorrow. He and his mother, Vibeke, live in a small town in northern Norway. They are new to the town, having just recently moved in.
A traveling carnival has come to town. Vibeke was on her way to the library - but they were closed - and ends at the carnival.
Jon also leaves the house to sell lottery tickets for his sports club.
We follow both of them during the night as they take very different journeys.
We meet the people each of come into contact with.
Jon is sure his mother is at home baking a cake for his birthday....with high hopes in getting a train set the next day.
As a single mother, Vibeke hasn’t much money....yet she has a lot of attention on looking good - would like to buy a new outfit - “she deserves it, with the move and all”. During a dinner scene — before their separate journeys begin — we see the inside thoughts of Vibeke: she doesn’t think her son’s stories have a point and “Can’t you just go, she thinks to herself. Find something to do, play or something”.
What stood out for me ( without giving this small story away) - is how innocent - vulnerable- pure - a child’s love can be for their parent ....under any circumstances. Yet underneath the surface we feel so many emotions....the loneliness.... sadness...longing: desire to be bathed in love.
I’m very glad I chose to read this book ....I thought it was gorgeously written...with concise compact sentences. I also love the book cover - Lovely
Thank You Netgalley, Archipelago Publishing, and Hanne Orstavik
January 26, 2023
لقد انتقلت " فيبيكة" وابنها الصغير "يوون" إلى بلدة صغيرة في شمال النرويج ، وفي ليلة ثلجية شديدة البرودة يقضيها كلٌ منهما بعيداً عن الآخر ، يتبدى لك كم كان كلٌ منهما وحيداً...غارقاً في فراغ لانهائي....
كلٌ منهما يجهل وجهته...ما ان يلتقي بالغرباء حتى يتعلق بهم ..يرون الغرباء لطفاء طيبين بدواخلهم وليس هنالك أي مدعاة لتوخي الحذر منهم...لم تكن مجازفة بقدر ما كانت يأساً وتسليماً لمزيد من الخسارة....
يُعلقون الآمال على هؤلاء الغرباء لعلهم يتمكنوا من بث الدفء في أوصالهم المرتجفة برداً والتي لم تكن للمعاطف الثقيلة أن تفعل شيئاً إزاءها...تراها البرودة حقاً أم الوحدة الصقيعية الصامتة التي تتغلغل بدواخلهم....
الأم تنتظر الفصل التالى لقصة حب لم تبدأ أصلاً...والابن ينتظر كعكة عيد ميلاده....
يفصلهما اغتراب روحيهما عن بعضهما البعض ...ويجمعهما حلم...
رواية رائعة ...كُتِبت ببراعة لافتة ، كما لو أن هنالك عدسة توصيفية دقيقة تنتقل ما بين الأم والابن لترصد حركاتهم ومشاعرهم عن قُرب شديد في مقاطع قصيرة لم تكن عابرة بل تخترقك..وترتجف بداخلك...
فثمة ما ينذر بأن هنالك شيء غامض خطير يُحتمل وقوعه في أي لحظة....
تترقب أنت...تنتظر...ويتراءى لك بالنهاية بأنه قد وقع بالفعل.
متى كان ذلك ؟؟...
لا أدري ولكنني متيقنة من وقوعه....
كلٌ منهما يجهل وجهته...ما ان يلتقي بالغرباء حتى يتعلق بهم ..يرون الغرباء لطفاء طيبين بدواخلهم وليس هنالك أي مدعاة لتوخي الحذر منهم...لم تكن مجازفة بقدر ما كانت يأساً وتسليماً لمزيد من الخسارة....
يُعلقون الآمال على هؤلاء الغرباء لعلهم يتمكنوا من بث الدفء في أوصالهم المرتجفة برداً والتي لم تكن للمعاطف الثقيلة أن تفعل شيئاً إزاءها...تراها البرودة حقاً أم الوحدة الصقيعية الصامتة التي تتغلغل بدواخلهم....
الأم تنتظر الفصل التالى لقصة حب لم تبدأ أصلاً...والابن ينتظر كعكة عيد ميلاده....
يفصلهما اغتراب روحيهما عن بعضهما البعض ...ويجمعهما حلم...
رواية رائعة ...كُتِبت ببراعة لافتة ، كما لو أن هنالك عدسة توصيفية دقيقة تنتقل ما بين الأم والابن لترصد حركاتهم ومشاعرهم عن قُرب شديد في مقاطع قصيرة لم تكن عابرة بل تخترقك..وترتجف بداخلك...
فثمة ما ينذر بأن هنالك شيء غامض خطير يُحتمل وقوعه في أي لحظة....
تترقب أنت...تنتظر...ويتراءى لك بالنهاية بأنه قد وقع بالفعل.
متى كان ذلك ؟؟...
لا أدري ولكنني متيقنة من وقوعه....
April 16, 2025
There is a dream like feel to the book as it starts. We meet Vibeke and her son, Jon- we alternate between the two right away. Vibeke arriving home from work and imagining the books that are waiting for her, the men she impressed today. Jon is in his room, thinking his own thoughts. He hears his mother’s arrival. No greeting between the two- they come together when dinner is ready. There is a sense of disconnect between the two. Few words are spoken.
What follows left me on edge right through to the finals words. Jon goes out without telling Vibeke; Vibeke also goes out without noticing that her son is no longer there. Both are out there in the night, meeting strangers, living out their own dreams in their own minds. With each new encounter, there is a sense of danger- for both of them. How this night ends is what kept me reading, all the time with my heart in my throat.
The writing was disorienting at first, as she flips from Vibeke to Jon without any warning. But once I got into her flow, it worked as I felt I was with both of them simultaneously.
I did not feel much “LOVE” as I was reading. Vibeke is a woman longing for love, yes, and Jon just wanted his mother to show her love for him by baking a birthday cake and giving him a present, but I felt no actual love. Jon is turning 9 the next day. I hate disliking anyone who loves books but I have to make an exception for Vibeke.
This book is a mere 125 pages. It takes place over one evening/ night. I found it to be mesmerizing as the tension mounted. It is a book that will definitely stay with me.
Update: 2 days later. Instead of 4.5 stars I have moved my rating to 5. I can’t stop thinking about this book and how deeply it affected me. It won’t be for everyone but give it a chance- it is that impactful.
A favourite podcast of mine, the Mookse and the Gripes will be discussing this author’s books this Thursday. Well worth a listen.
Publsihed: 1997
What follows left me on edge right through to the finals words. Jon goes out without telling Vibeke; Vibeke also goes out without noticing that her son is no longer there. Both are out there in the night, meeting strangers, living out their own dreams in their own minds. With each new encounter, there is a sense of danger- for both of them. How this night ends is what kept me reading, all the time with my heart in my throat.
The writing was disorienting at first, as she flips from Vibeke to Jon without any warning. But once I got into her flow, it worked as I felt I was with both of them simultaneously.
I did not feel much “LOVE” as I was reading. Vibeke is a woman longing for love, yes, and Jon just wanted his mother to show her love for him by baking a birthday cake and giving him a present, but I felt no actual love. Jon is turning 9 the next day. I hate disliking anyone who loves books but I have to make an exception for Vibeke.
This book is a mere 125 pages. It takes place over one evening/ night. I found it to be mesmerizing as the tension mounted. It is a book that will definitely stay with me.
Update: 2 days later. Instead of 4.5 stars I have moved my rating to 5. I can’t stop thinking about this book and how deeply it affected me. It won’t be for everyone but give it a chance- it is that impactful.
A favourite podcast of mine, the Mookse and the Gripes will be discussing this author’s books this Thursday. Well worth a listen.
Publsihed: 1997
November 19, 2019
Eerie story involving a mother and son. A thin layer, below the surface of the events that transpire, reveals the sense of something being not quite right. A mother who is so very self absorbed imagining and filling in the blanks of her life with how she wants the story to go. Her son, so lost and alone, prefers to leap into life with faith in the belief his mother has shared with him, that there is good in everyone. On the surface things move along during this one bitter cold night. Cold to your soul kind of night. This is such an expressively brilliant very short novel with a nightmarish style. The writer shares details with an up close and wicked hand. You are right there in that frozen night chilled to the end.
February 26, 2020
Shortlisted for the Republic of Consciousness Prize 2020
Another very impressive book from the RofC list, this short novel is a beautifully controlled piece of storytelling set in a single winter evening in northern Norway.
The two main characters are Vibeke, a lonely single mother who has recently arrived in the small village, and her son Jon, who is looking forward to his ninth birthday the following day. The narrative alternates between them, often several times in the same short chapter, as they each go out separately into the dark snowy night.
Another very impressive book from the RofC list, this short novel is a beautifully controlled piece of storytelling set in a single winter evening in northern Norway.
The two main characters are Vibeke, a lonely single mother who has recently arrived in the small village, and her son Jon, who is looking forward to his ninth birthday the following day. The narrative alternates between them, often several times in the same short chapter, as they each go out separately into the dark snowy night.
December 12, 2020
“Can’t you just go, she thinks to herself. Find something to do, or play, or something”
I read this book due to its longlisting for the 2020 Republic of Consciousness Prize for UK and Irish small presses - for which it has now been shortlisted.
And Other Stories is a small UK publisher which “publishes some of the best in contemporary writing, including many translations” and aims “to push people’s reading limits and help them discover authors of adventurous and inspiring writing”. They are set up as a not-for-profit Community Interest Company and operate on a subscriber model – with subscribers (of which they now have around 1000 in 40 countries) committing in advance to enable the publication of future books.
Famously and admirably, And Other Stories were the only publisher to respond to Kamilia Shamsie (subsequent winner of the 2018 Women’s Prize)’s 2016 challenge to only publish books by women in 2018 (https://www.theguardian.com/books/201...)).
This book, translated by Martin Aitken (most famously joint translator of the sixth and final volume of Knausgaard’s My Struggle series) and published in 2019, was originally written in 1997 (which is important to the plot as a 21st Century word of smartphones would render the plot even more implausible than it is).
The book ostensibly tells the story of a single Mum, Vibeke and her eight year old child Jon – they have recently moved to a small, remote Norwegian town – Vibeke is an Arts and Culture officer at the local authority.
Set over a single Winter’s night, the evening before Jon’s 9th birthday, and written in the present tense, it cleverly interleaves (without any marked breaks) the simultaneous third-person point-of-view accounts of Jon and Vibeke to create an atmospheric tale with a never-realised undercurrent of menace.
Flush with the success of her first presentation Vibeke decides to go into the village, initially to visit the library but then distracted by a travelling funfair, where she decides to go with one of the workers into the nearby town. Jon, convinced that his Mum is preparing for his birthday, goes for a walk around the village, following an older girl back to her house where the two fall asleep together and then finding the house locked around midnight walking some more.
At the fair, Vibeke meets an eccentric woman selling cuddly toy tombola tickets, and the same woman later picks up the wandering Jon.
Jon’s world is one of habit/obsession (particularly with not blinking) and imagination – like many 8 year olds at times he operates in a parallel world of his imaginings.
Vibeke’s world is one of love – but a search for love and the adult companionship that she does not get from Jon, rather than a giver of it. The quote with which I open my review is on page 17 and immediately after (even thought its unspoken) Jon does go out never to return. Vibeke does think about Jon occassionally for another 17 pages but as soon as she goes out he ceases to exist in her thoughts – despite thinking of the day of the week and searching for a newspaper (all I think clues that she knows full well what day it is) she has no idea it’s her only son’s 9th birthday and when she finally returns to the house she does not even think to check on him in bed.
I think there are different ways to view the book – either as a rather unbelievable tale : not just in Vibeke’s behaviour, but in that of others who interact with Jon (the girl who takes an 8 year old back to her room and then falls asleep, her parents who think nothing of an 8 year old being in their house late at night and don’t think to ask after his parents, and who then allow him to walk out into the cold night not long before midnight). The only person who does seem to realise the oddness of an 8 year old wandering around is the funfair-lady, herself a clear eccentric and also a rather unbelievable character as she works out who Jon’s mother is and then seemingly goes looking for Jon. And there seems to be a clue to the incongruity of this interaction when Jon (an 8 year old as a reminder) takes his first drag on a cigarette and does not cough. All of which I think leads to the more obvious conclusion – that the book is more of a fantasy and that perhaps Jon does not exist as a character, a theory which is also supported by the over-heavy use of perfectly remembered dream sequences in the book (which is never a literary device that I enjoy).
Despite my reservations, this is an absorbing novella and one what has already won several award nominations in the US and I can see it making the RoC shortlist.
August 31, 2021
Trenzas y frío. Mucho frío.
Novela cortita que narra una gélida noche de una madre y su hijo en un pueblo de Noruega. Entramos en la cabeza de Vibeke para conocer sus pensamientos e inquietudes y saltamos a la cabeza de Jon, que está ilusionado porque mañana su madre le va a preparar una fiesta por su noveno cumpleaños.
En este libro no hay capítulos y los párrafos dedicados a la madre y al hijo van alternándose como trenzas aunque ambos personajes estén en diferentes lugares. Este recurso de mezclar escenas continuamente podría generar cierta confusión, pero en mi caso me ha hecho estar aún más metido en la historia al forzarme a estar pendiente de cada palabra.
La noche avanza y aunque todo transcurre con lentitud, cada vez siento más frío porque la distancia entre Vibeke y Jon es mucho mayor de lo que inicialmente imaginaba. Y me van calando la soledad, la tristeza, el desencanto. Y los párrafos y los diálogos se siguen trenzando... y llega la angustia, la pena, el dolor.
Lo termino a las 23:51 y un par de horas después sigo sin poder dormir. Quiero muchísimo más que muchísimo a mis dos “Jones”.
Amor es una bella rareza en cuanto a su voz narrativa. Me ha dejado el corazón congelado ❤❄.
Novela cortita que narra una gélida noche de una madre y su hijo en un pueblo de Noruega. Entramos en la cabeza de Vibeke para conocer sus pensamientos e inquietudes y saltamos a la cabeza de Jon, que está ilusionado porque mañana su madre le va a preparar una fiesta por su noveno cumpleaños.
En este libro no hay capítulos y los párrafos dedicados a la madre y al hijo van alternándose como trenzas aunque ambos personajes estén en diferentes lugares. Este recurso de mezclar escenas continuamente podría generar cierta confusión, pero en mi caso me ha hecho estar aún más metido en la historia al forzarme a estar pendiente de cada palabra.
La noche avanza y aunque todo transcurre con lentitud, cada vez siento más frío porque la distancia entre Vibeke y Jon es mucho mayor de lo que inicialmente imaginaba. Y me van calando la soledad, la tristeza, el desencanto. Y los párrafos y los diálogos se siguen trenzando... y llega la angustia, la pena, el dolor.
Lo termino a las 23:51 y un par de horas después sigo sin poder dormir. Quiero muchísimo más que muchísimo a mis dos “Jones”.
Amor es una bella rareza en cuanto a su voz narrativa. Me ha dejado el corazón congelado ❤❄.
August 4, 2018
Verbeke, a single mom, and Jon, her eight-year-old, have recently moved to a new town in Norway, and are feeling their way into new lives. In luscious, often hypnotic prose—the translation by Martin Aitken is superb—Hanne Ørstavik narrates the events of the day before Jon‘s ninth birthday: a thrilling, heart-rending tale of trust, neglect and heartbreak.
Verbeke and Jon are like two ships passing in the night. She is in her own little world most of the time, barely aware of her son’s presence except to take care of his basic needs. She is preoccupied by her new job, finding a man, finding clothes that fit sexily. When she thinks her son is home, he’s usually out; when she thinks he’s out, he’s usually not; his sense of her whereabouts is just as off.
They each go off into that night; they each meet new people. The reader is on the edge of her seat, feeling a vague sense of dread: is this or that person a threat, or not? Where is—what is—the danger that permeates this fateful night in the lives of Verbeke and Jon? The echoes reverberating between their points of view skew the unease into a rich, ominous blur.
My BookTube video review: https://youtu.be/xPownS5MuQo
I received this book from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
Verbeke and Jon are like two ships passing in the night. She is in her own little world most of the time, barely aware of her son’s presence except to take care of his basic needs. She is preoccupied by her new job, finding a man, finding clothes that fit sexily. When she thinks her son is home, he’s usually out; when she thinks he’s out, he’s usually not; his sense of her whereabouts is just as off.
They each go off into that night; they each meet new people. The reader is on the edge of her seat, feeling a vague sense of dread: is this or that person a threat, or not? Where is—what is—the danger that permeates this fateful night in the lives of Verbeke and Jon? The echoes reverberating between their points of view skew the unease into a rich, ominous blur.
My BookTube video review: https://youtu.be/xPownS5MuQo
I received this book from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
February 26, 2020
Jon stands in the doorway looking at her. He tries not to blink. He wants to ask her something about his birthday, tomorrow he’ll be nine. He tells himself it can wait, she’s asleep now. A book in her lap. He’s used to seeing her like that. A book, the bright light of the floor lamp.
Often, she’ll have lit a cigarette and his eyes will follow the smoke as it curls toward the ceiling. Her long, dark hair fans out over the back of the chair, trembling almost imperceptibly. Stroke my hair, Jon.
Kjærlighet by Hanne Ørstavik was published in Norway in 1997. The English translation, Love, by Martin Aitken came out in 2018 in the US via Archipelago and has already obtained significant prize success, the book a Finalist (i.e. shortlisted) in the National Book Awards for Translated Literature and Aitken winning 2019 PEN Translation Prize. It has now been published in the UK by another excellent independent publisher, And Other Stories and shortlisted for the 2020 Republic of Consciousness Prize.
Aitken translates from both Danish and Norwegian. This is the fourth translation of his I've read, and all highly distinctive: Bjørn Rasmussen's The Skin Is the Elastic Covering That Encases the Entire Body, Kim Leine's Prophets of Eternal Fjord, and most notably half of the final volume of Karl Ove Knausgård monumental My Struggle. He has also translated, amongst others, Peter Høeg, Dorthe Nors and Pia Juul.
He has described translation as like interpreting a piano piece on violin, requiring a creative space far beyond formal dictation ("som at tolke et klaverstykke på violin eller omvendt – det kreative råderum, det kræver, rækker så langt ud over det formelles diktat." - https://norla.no/nb/nyheter/nyheter-f... - my google assisted translation!) . The judge's citaton for the PEN Translation Prize sums up Aitken's achievement here perfectly:
She gets through three books a week, often four or five. She wishes she could read all the time, sitting in bed with the duvet pulled up, with coffee, lots of cigarettes, and a warm nightdress on. She could have done without the TV too, I never watch it, she tells herself, but Jon would have minded.
She gives a wide berth to an old woman waddling along pulling a gray trolley behind her on the icy road. It’s dark, the snow banked up at the roadsides blocking out the light, Vibeke thinks to herself. Then she realizes she’s forgotten to turn the headlights on and has driven
nearly all the way home in an unlit car. She turns them on.
Jon tries not to blink. It’s hard for him not to. It’s the muscles around his eyes that go into spasm. He kneels on his bed and peers through the window. Everything is still.
He’s waiting for Vibeke to come home. He tries to keep his eyes open and calm, fixed on the same
spot outside the window. There must be at least a meter of snow. Under the snow live the mice. They have pathways and tunnels. They visit each other, Jon imagines, maybe they bring each other food.
The sound of the car. When he’s waiting he can never quite recall it. I’ve forgotten, he tells himself. But then it comes back to him, often in pauses between the waiting, after he’s stopped thinking about it. And then she comes, and he recognizes the sound in an instant; he hears it with his tummy, it’s my tummy that remembers the sound, not me, he thinks to himself. And no sooner has he heard the car than he sees it too, from the corner of the window, her blue car coming around the bend behind the banks of snow, and she turns in at the house and drives up the little slope to the front door.
This abrupt cutting between the narration from Vibeke's perspective and that of Jon is a feature throughout the novel. Their two lives, both searching for love, seem to run in parallel, close but never quite converging. Jon is lonely, constantly thinking of his mother, daydreaming and trying to control his blinking habit. But Vibeke is also lonely - we learn she recently divorced from her husband and moved with Jon to this remote Norwegian village 4 months earlier - thinking more about companionship than her son. For example this scene:
She reaches out and smoothes her hand over his head.
"Have you made any friends yet?"
His hair is fine and soft.
"Jon," she says. "Dearest Jon."
She repeats the movement while studying her hand. Her nail polish is pale and sandy with just a hint of pink. She likes to be discreet at work. She remembers the new set that must still be in her bag, plum, or was it wine; a dark, sensual lipstick and nail polish the same shade. To go with a dark, brown-eyed man, she thinks with a little smile.
The novel unfolds over just one extended evening. Jon, assuming his mother will be preoccupied with preparations for his birthday goes out for a walk: his mother also goes out, but not in search, as Jon assumes, of eggs for a birthday cake.
Both end up falling in with strangers - a travelling fair is in town - and there is a brooding sense of something sinister always about to materalise on the next page, but which never quite does so. There is a great review here by enricocioni which contrasts the parent child relationship to two other wonderful translated novels, Die by Love and Fever Dream.
https://strangebookfellowsblog.wordpr...
And an interview with the author:
https://www.bookaholic.ro/freedom-mea...
An excellent novel, with a heartbreaking ending, and surely a strong Booker International contender. 4.5 stars.
As a bonus, Vibeke is a keen reader and has some excellent asides on the topic:
Her preferred reading habit and frequency:
She gets through three books a week, often four or five. She wishes she could read all the time, sitting in bed with the duvet pulled up.
On returning books to the library, out of hours:
She drops the books through the return slot. It almost hurts to let go, the way they splay out in the a heap on the floor. It’s like leaving some people of whom she’s grown fond.
Her taste in books (seeing a book someone else is reading):
She doesn’t recognise the title but the author is an American man. The category is one she tends to avoid.
Often, she’ll have lit a cigarette and his eyes will follow the smoke as it curls toward the ceiling. Her long, dark hair fans out over the back of the chair, trembling almost imperceptibly. Stroke my hair, Jon.
Kjærlighet by Hanne Ørstavik was published in Norway in 1997. The English translation, Love, by Martin Aitken came out in 2018 in the US via Archipelago and has already obtained significant prize success, the book a Finalist (i.e. shortlisted) in the National Book Awards for Translated Literature and Aitken winning 2019 PEN Translation Prize. It has now been published in the UK by another excellent independent publisher, And Other Stories and shortlisted for the 2020 Republic of Consciousness Prize.
Aitken translates from both Danish and Norwegian. This is the fourth translation of his I've read, and all highly distinctive: Bjørn Rasmussen's The Skin Is the Elastic Covering That Encases the Entire Body, Kim Leine's Prophets of Eternal Fjord, and most notably half of the final volume of Karl Ove Knausgård monumental My Struggle. He has also translated, amongst others, Peter Høeg, Dorthe Nors and Pia Juul.
He has described translation as like interpreting a piano piece on violin, requiring a creative space far beyond formal dictation ("som at tolke et klaverstykke på violin eller omvendt – det kreative råderum, det kræver, rækker så langt ud over det formelles diktat." - https://norla.no/nb/nyheter/nyheter-f... - my google assisted translation!) . The judge's citaton for the PEN Translation Prize sums up Aitken's achievement here perfectly:
The judges are proud to honor Martin Aitken for his luminous translation of Hanne Ørstavik’s haunting novel Love, which follows the distant, orbiting lives of a mother and son like a telescope through one cold winter’s night. In a mere 125 pages, Ørstavik distills a tremendous sense of emptiness, loneliness, and yearning from Vibeke and her son Jon, and in Aitken’s elegant translation, the prose crackles like the icy environs of Norway itself. Ørstavik’s narrative shifts without warning between the voices and visions of her two protagonists, and the finesse of Aitken’s focus allows these transitions to take place with equal parts artistry and subtlety. What we have, in the end, with Love, is an extraordinary translation of an uncannily singular novel, one which the judges will be savoring for many years to come.Love is a short but highly atmospheric novel. It opens introducing us to both Vibeke and her 8, turning 9, year old son Jon:
She gets through three books a week, often four or five. She wishes she could read all the time, sitting in bed with the duvet pulled up, with coffee, lots of cigarettes, and a warm nightdress on. She could have done without the TV too, I never watch it, she tells herself, but Jon would have minded.
She gives a wide berth to an old woman waddling along pulling a gray trolley behind her on the icy road. It’s dark, the snow banked up at the roadsides blocking out the light, Vibeke thinks to herself. Then she realizes she’s forgotten to turn the headlights on and has driven
nearly all the way home in an unlit car. She turns them on.
Jon tries not to blink. It’s hard for him not to. It’s the muscles around his eyes that go into spasm. He kneels on his bed and peers through the window. Everything is still.
He’s waiting for Vibeke to come home. He tries to keep his eyes open and calm, fixed on the same
spot outside the window. There must be at least a meter of snow. Under the snow live the mice. They have pathways and tunnels. They visit each other, Jon imagines, maybe they bring each other food.
The sound of the car. When he’s waiting he can never quite recall it. I’ve forgotten, he tells himself. But then it comes back to him, often in pauses between the waiting, after he’s stopped thinking about it. And then she comes, and he recognizes the sound in an instant; he hears it with his tummy, it’s my tummy that remembers the sound, not me, he thinks to himself. And no sooner has he heard the car than he sees it too, from the corner of the window, her blue car coming around the bend behind the banks of snow, and she turns in at the house and drives up the little slope to the front door.
This abrupt cutting between the narration from Vibeke's perspective and that of Jon is a feature throughout the novel. Their two lives, both searching for love, seem to run in parallel, close but never quite converging. Jon is lonely, constantly thinking of his mother, daydreaming and trying to control his blinking habit. But Vibeke is also lonely - we learn she recently divorced from her husband and moved with Jon to this remote Norwegian village 4 months earlier - thinking more about companionship than her son. For example this scene:
She reaches out and smoothes her hand over his head.
"Have you made any friends yet?"
His hair is fine and soft.
"Jon," she says. "Dearest Jon."
She repeats the movement while studying her hand. Her nail polish is pale and sandy with just a hint of pink. She likes to be discreet at work. She remembers the new set that must still be in her bag, plum, or was it wine; a dark, sensual lipstick and nail polish the same shade. To go with a dark, brown-eyed man, she thinks with a little smile.
The novel unfolds over just one extended evening. Jon, assuming his mother will be preoccupied with preparations for his birthday goes out for a walk: his mother also goes out, but not in search, as Jon assumes, of eggs for a birthday cake.
Both end up falling in with strangers - a travelling fair is in town - and there is a brooding sense of something sinister always about to materalise on the next page, but which never quite does so. There is a great review here by enricocioni which contrasts the parent child relationship to two other wonderful translated novels, Die by Love and Fever Dream.
https://strangebookfellowsblog.wordpr...
And an interview with the author:
https://www.bookaholic.ro/freedom-mea...
An excellent novel, with a heartbreaking ending, and surely a strong Booker International contender. 4.5 stars.
As a bonus, Vibeke is a keen reader and has some excellent asides on the topic:
Her preferred reading habit and frequency:
She gets through three books a week, often four or five. She wishes she could read all the time, sitting in bed with the duvet pulled up.
On returning books to the library, out of hours:
She drops the books through the return slot. It almost hurts to let go, the way they splay out in the a heap on the floor. It’s like leaving some people of whom she’s grown fond.
Her taste in books (seeing a book someone else is reading):
She doesn’t recognise the title but the author is an American man. The category is one she tends to avoid.
November 29, 2017
Winters are bitingly cold in northern Norway, with an average temperature of around -17°C. Yet it is to a bleak little village in this region that Vibeke moves with her eight-year-old son, Jon, in order to make a fresh start. The story begins as the circus arrives, on the eve of his birthday.
Both mother and son are intense, cerebral individuals, who lose themselves in daydreams, and struggle to communicate their thoughts and feelings to others - she chain-smokes, he continually blinks. Even so, they are overly trusting of strangers and have oddly naïve personalities. The greatest void, however, is between the two of them, and they seem to view each other from opposite sides of a wide crevasse. There is love (adoration on his part), but it is ill-defined, unfocused.
“She gets through three books a week, often four or five. She wishes she could read all the time, sitting in bed with the duvet pulled up, with coffee, lots of cigarettes, and a warm nightdress on.”
Voted the sixth best Norwegian book of the last 25 years, Love, by Hanne Ørstavik (originally published as Kjærlighet in 1997), has been translated into English by Martin Aitken, and is due for release in February 2018. It is an existential novel, with narratives drifting back and forth between Vibeke and Jon - they all but merge when either one or both of them become anxious. As the story develops, Ørstavik skilfully effects a feeling of dread - an unpleasant, tense, vaguely sinister sensation of impending catastrophe pervades the icy air.
Has anything significant been lost in translation? I think there probably has, but as an inveterate unilingual English-speaker I simply cannot judge. Nevertheless, I am able to say with certainty that Love is an intelligent, thoughtful, if melancholy tale, which demonstrates what can happen if we become too internalised and fail to be mindful of those we love.
Both mother and son are intense, cerebral individuals, who lose themselves in daydreams, and struggle to communicate their thoughts and feelings to others - she chain-smokes, he continually blinks. Even so, they are overly trusting of strangers and have oddly naïve personalities. The greatest void, however, is between the two of them, and they seem to view each other from opposite sides of a wide crevasse. There is love (adoration on his part), but it is ill-defined, unfocused.
“She gets through three books a week, often four or five. She wishes she could read all the time, sitting in bed with the duvet pulled up, with coffee, lots of cigarettes, and a warm nightdress on.”
Voted the sixth best Norwegian book of the last 25 years, Love, by Hanne Ørstavik (originally published as Kjærlighet in 1997), has been translated into English by Martin Aitken, and is due for release in February 2018. It is an existential novel, with narratives drifting back and forth between Vibeke and Jon - they all but merge when either one or both of them become anxious. As the story develops, Ørstavik skilfully effects a feeling of dread - an unpleasant, tense, vaguely sinister sensation of impending catastrophe pervades the icy air.
Has anything significant been lost in translation? I think there probably has, but as an inveterate unilingual English-speaker I simply cannot judge. Nevertheless, I am able to say with certainty that Love is an intelligent, thoughtful, if melancholy tale, which demonstrates what can happen if we become too internalised and fail to be mindful of those we love.
February 10, 2018
For such a short work, this is a challenge to read. The story of a mother and son in the coldest time of year in the coldest region of Norway, the narrative moves between Vibeke and Jon, even though they are not in the same location as the story goes on. My reading process went something like read two-three paragraphs, then backtrack one to pick up the alternate character to figure out what is going on. I'm not sure I always understood where I was. Is this translation or in the original work? That is uncertain.
There are elements of deep foreboding and danger, but because of the strange (unique?) writing style, sometimes I couldn't tell if what I thought I was understanding were really going on. For instance at one point I'm pretty sure Jon is in the trailer? home? of a couple who are child sexual predators but then he's not kept there. And he gets in the car with a stranger.
Part of my other confusion is the beginning of the novel, when Jon is at home waiting for Vibeke to come home, I read him as an older man, possibly her father or someone she worked for as a nurse or aide, that I was pretty confused when I understood him to be eight.
There's a night circus (does this really happen in the cold or was this another imagined thing?) and Vibeke herself is making some bad choices by going off alone with what we here in the USA would negatively call a carny. She also ends up in possible danger, but her attitude doesn't make it seem so. She is smoking, and smiling, and seems up for whatever, forgetting that she has a child at home. So is this night a binging of singleness amidst the stress of parenting a child alone? Or is it something else entirely.
So I end the book completely unsure of what I read or what I got out of it. I didn't mind having to work hard, but I am not sure what the answers are.
Thanks to the publisher, the marvelous Archipelago Press, for providing early access to this title through Edelweiss. It is available 13 February 2018.
There are elements of deep foreboding and danger, but because of the strange (unique?) writing style, sometimes I couldn't tell if what I thought I was understanding were really going on. For instance at one point I'm pretty sure Jon is in the trailer? home? of a couple who are child sexual predators but then he's not kept there. And he gets in the car with a stranger.
Part of my other confusion is the beginning of the novel, when Jon is at home waiting for Vibeke to come home, I read him as an older man, possibly her father or someone she worked for as a nurse or aide, that I was pretty confused when I understood him to be eight.
There's a night circus (does this really happen in the cold or was this another imagined thing?) and Vibeke herself is making some bad choices by going off alone with what we here in the USA would negatively call a carny. She also ends up in possible danger, but her attitude doesn't make it seem so. She is smoking, and smiling, and seems up for whatever, forgetting that she has a child at home. So is this night a binging of singleness amidst the stress of parenting a child alone? Or is it something else entirely.
So I end the book completely unsure of what I read or what I got out of it. I didn't mind having to work hard, but I am not sure what the answers are.
Thanks to the publisher, the marvelous Archipelago Press, for providing early access to this title through Edelweiss. It is available 13 February 2018.
February 3, 2020
A very creepy short novel that does an excellent job of ratcheting up the tension as it goes along; so much of it depends on such atmospherics, since the only true 'danger' is one that comes from the inside (perhaps the titular emotion?), rather than any of the more obvious red herrings the author throws one's way. The unusual structure, in which alternating narratives about a self-absorbed mother and her soon to be nine year old son dovetail, so that the reader is often not aware when one shifts to the other, is quite effective.
August 18, 2023
4.5
Ce descoperire! O bijuterie de mic roman perfect scris, niciun cuvânt în plus sau în minus, un ton limpede, subtil, care nu te bombardează cu emoții, din care dramatismul poveștii iese singur și fără stridențe.
Și o alegere cum nu se poate mai bună de a pune in paralel - și foarte cinematografic - secvențele cu cei doi protagoniști. Fiul care își vede mama perfectă, mama care abia își vede fiul. Mama pe care o înțelegi și în același timp ți-e greu să nu o judeci. Fiul pe care ai vrea să-l protejezi.
Hanne Ørstavik și eu ne vom mai întâlni.
Ce descoperire! O bijuterie de mic roman perfect scris, niciun cuvânt în plus sau în minus, un ton limpede, subtil, care nu te bombardează cu emoții, din care dramatismul poveștii iese singur și fără stridențe.
Și o alegere cum nu se poate mai bună de a pune in paralel - și foarte cinematografic - secvențele cu cei doi protagoniști. Fiul care își vede mama perfectă, mama care abia își vede fiul. Mama pe care o înțelegi și în același timp ți-e greu să nu o judeci. Fiul pe care ai vrea să-l protejezi.
Hanne Ørstavik și eu ne vom mai întâlni.
August 11, 2020
A skandináv minimalizmus olyan, mint a bundáskenyér: egyszerűen jó. Bár - és itt rugalmasan elszakadnék a bundáskenyér-analógiától - a skandináv minimalizmus egyszerűsége igazából látszólagos, a szerkezet és a történetmesélés lecsiszoltsága csak kiemeli azt, ami igazán bonyolult: az emberi kapcsolatok megfejthetetlenségét.
Vibeka és fia, a kis Jon most költöztek egy norvég kisvárosba. Szokványos estének néznek elébe: Vibeka könyvtárba indul, Jon pedig megismerkedik valakivel. Aztán semmi sem úgy alakul, ahogy tervezve lett. Finomra hangszerelt, csendesen feszültségteljes regény két emberről, akik egymásra vannak utalva, de életük mégis mintha párhuzamosan suhanna el egymás mellett, akár két idegené. (Amit csak kiemel, hogy Vibeka és Jon történetszálát úgy montírozza egymásra a szerző, hogy néha meg kell állnunk egy pillanatra, most épp kiét is olvassuk.) És az egész felett ott lebeg csaliként a cím: Vágy. Az olvasó pedig értelmezni próbál, ki is az, aki vágyakozik és mire. Miből áll ez a vágy és egyirányú-e. A szöveg persze síkos angolna, kicsúszik az értelmező kezei közül. Hipotéziseink vannak, nem biztos ítéleteink.
A tragédiák pedig mindig értelmetlenek.
Vibeka és fia, a kis Jon most költöztek egy norvég kisvárosba. Szokványos estének néznek elébe: Vibeka könyvtárba indul, Jon pedig megismerkedik valakivel. Aztán semmi sem úgy alakul, ahogy tervezve lett. Finomra hangszerelt, csendesen feszültségteljes regény két emberről, akik egymásra vannak utalva, de életük mégis mintha párhuzamosan suhanna el egymás mellett, akár két idegené. (Amit csak kiemel, hogy Vibeka és Jon történetszálát úgy montírozza egymásra a szerző, hogy néha meg kell állnunk egy pillanatra, most épp kiét is olvassuk.) És az egész felett ott lebeg csaliként a cím: Vágy. Az olvasó pedig értelmezni próbál, ki is az, aki vágyakozik és mire. Miből áll ez a vágy és egyirányú-e. A szöveg persze síkos angolna, kicsúszik az értelmező kezei közül. Hipotéziseink vannak, nem biztos ítéleteink.
A tragédiák pedig mindig értelmetlenek.
February 2, 2019
"Viața e prea scurtă, trebuie să-ți dai silința să fii frumoasă, se gândește ea."
March 23, 2018
I decided to read this book because I knew it took place in winter and while we still have snow on the ground here in New England I figured I better get to it. Spring might actually arrive by May!
This is such a strange book. It focuses on a mother & son, Vibeke and Jon over the course of one evening. They have just recently moved to a small northern town in Norway. Jon adores his mother and Vibeke seems a bit distant and cold when it comes to her son. She wants to spend her time reading, shopping, working, fantasizing of men, and making sure she always looks beautiful. She doesn't really think Jon and his stories make any sense and she'd rather he just go play by himself and not bother her. Jon's 9th birthday is tomorrow and he dreams of a brand new train set and his mother to bake him a cake. Vibeke doesn't even remember it's his birthday.
Jon has tickets to sell for his Sports Club and leaves the house unbeknownst to Vibeke. Vibeke meanwhile has decided to get herself all prettied up to head to the library. As she leaves the house she calls out to Jon not waiting for a response and not realizing he isn't even in the house.
We then follow both Vibeke and Jon as they make their way through the night and the strangers they encounter. Both of them are overly trusting. An atmosphere of dread prevails through out the entire novel.
I'm not so sure what to make of the ending. Which I think was intentional on Ørstavik's part. It allows the reader to draw their own conclusion. Sadly, what I took away from it was truly heartbreaking. I want nothing more than to give my son the biggest hug right now.
Just to note, the way the story is presented can be confusing at first. One paragraph to the next we're either inside Vibeke or Jon's head without anything to distinguish the change which took me a bit to get used to.
Thank you to NetGalley for providing me with a digital ARC in exchange for my honest review.
This is such a strange book. It focuses on a mother & son, Vibeke and Jon over the course of one evening. They have just recently moved to a small northern town in Norway. Jon adores his mother and Vibeke seems a bit distant and cold when it comes to her son. She wants to spend her time reading, shopping, working, fantasizing of men, and making sure she always looks beautiful. She doesn't really think Jon and his stories make any sense and she'd rather he just go play by himself and not bother her. Jon's 9th birthday is tomorrow and he dreams of a brand new train set and his mother to bake him a cake. Vibeke doesn't even remember it's his birthday.
Jon has tickets to sell for his Sports Club and leaves the house unbeknownst to Vibeke. Vibeke meanwhile has decided to get herself all prettied up to head to the library. As she leaves the house she calls out to Jon not waiting for a response and not realizing he isn't even in the house.
We then follow both Vibeke and Jon as they make their way through the night and the strangers they encounter. Both of them are overly trusting. An atmosphere of dread prevails through out the entire novel.
I'm not so sure what to make of the ending. Which I think was intentional on Ørstavik's part. It allows the reader to draw their own conclusion. Sadly, what I took away from it was truly heartbreaking. I want nothing more than to give my son the biggest hug right now.
Just to note, the way the story is presented can be confusing at first. One paragraph to the next we're either inside Vibeke or Jon's head without anything to distinguish the change which took me a bit to get used to.
Thank you to NetGalley for providing me with a digital ARC in exchange for my honest review.
September 13, 2021
LOVE (1997) is not a love story. Rather, it is a story about the failure of love, a poignant story of neglect, loneliness, silences and broken connections.
Young Vibeke is an attractive, single mother who has recently moved with her 8-year-old son Jon to a remote town in northern Norway. She pays him little attention and wishes he would “find something to do, play or something” and leave her alone. She comes across as a rather self-absorbed, selfish mother.
After dinner, Vibeke and Jon go on their separate ways. Jon cannot stop thinking about Vibeke. He is happy because tomorrow is his 9th birthday. He is certain his mother is secretly preparing for a big celebration. He expects a homemade cake, of course. And a nice present too. Unfortunately, Vibeke thinks of Jon less and less as her evening progresses. Actually, she is engrossed with thoughts of other men. She travels first to the library with the hope of encountering a man she met at her job, and ends up at a funfair, where she meets an attractive man and spends the evening with him.
LOVE is a short novel which takes place in one single night. It is a story of two journeys, cleverly constructed to pull you along in the wake of the two main characters, switching frequently between the two, leaving the reader anxious and filled with dread, while waiting for the two journeys to intersect at some point. The compelling prose drives the narrative forward of this riveting story of botched motherhood, escapism and isolation.
Young Vibeke is an attractive, single mother who has recently moved with her 8-year-old son Jon to a remote town in northern Norway. She pays him little attention and wishes he would “find something to do, play or something” and leave her alone. She comes across as a rather self-absorbed, selfish mother.
After dinner, Vibeke and Jon go on their separate ways. Jon cannot stop thinking about Vibeke. He is happy because tomorrow is his 9th birthday. He is certain his mother is secretly preparing for a big celebration. He expects a homemade cake, of course. And a nice present too. Unfortunately, Vibeke thinks of Jon less and less as her evening progresses. Actually, she is engrossed with thoughts of other men. She travels first to the library with the hope of encountering a man she met at her job, and ends up at a funfair, where she meets an attractive man and spends the evening with him.
LOVE is a short novel which takes place in one single night. It is a story of two journeys, cleverly constructed to pull you along in the wake of the two main characters, switching frequently between the two, leaving the reader anxious and filled with dread, while waiting for the two journeys to intersect at some point. The compelling prose drives the narrative forward of this riveting story of botched motherhood, escapism and isolation.
January 27, 2020
Love tells the story of a single evening and follows two characters, Vibeke and her son Jon, on the eve of Jon’s ninth birthday. In a structure that enhances the uncanny atmosphere of the book, Vibeke’s and Jon’s stories are told in parallel as the narrative switches between the two almost on a paragraph by paragraph basis. Sometimes the jump between narrative threads is obvious. At other times, the first sentence or so of a paragraph could belong with the previous one but the reader suddenly becomes aware that we have switched to the other thread.
The tension the book generates comes from two sources. Firstly, everything that happens feels like the precursor to something dreadful. As events then repeatedly turn out to NOT be leading to something dreadful, the suspense grows and the reader begins to long for something bad to happen to release the anxiety. Secondly, the author chooses not to explain many of the things that happen, leaving the reader to make their own decisions about people’s motivations. (PS You will have to read the book for yourself to discover what, if, of course, anything resolves the tension).
Jon believes his mother will be busy preparing a cake for his birthday the next day, so he takes a walk in the snow outside. However, where Jon is almost permanently thinking about his mother, Vibeke, on the other hand, rarely gives Jon a thought. She also goes out for the evening. Jon is searching for his mother’s love. His mother is searching elsewhere for love. At the fairground, Vibeke encounters a white-haired lady and then meets Tom whom she stays with for several hours. Meanwhile, the white-haired lady appears in Jon’s narrative.
What makes this book memorable is the continuous sense that something sinister will happen on the next page.
This is a very short book that can easily be read in a single sitting (assuming you have the kind of lifestyle that allows you to set aside periods of time for reading - my Kindle tells me the average time required to read the book is marginally under 2 hours). Vibeke would form an opinion about you based on how long it took you to read the book. As the novel says, ”She thinks the speed at which a person reads says something about the kind of rhythm they possess, the way they are in life”.
With its poignant ending, this is an excellent book that holds the reader’s attention by not telling them many things but giving them enough to set their imagination running.
The tension the book generates comes from two sources. Firstly, everything that happens feels like the precursor to something dreadful. As events then repeatedly turn out to NOT be leading to something dreadful, the suspense grows and the reader begins to long for something bad to happen to release the anxiety. Secondly, the author chooses not to explain many of the things that happen, leaving the reader to make their own decisions about people’s motivations. (PS You will have to read the book for yourself to discover what, if, of course, anything resolves the tension).
Jon believes his mother will be busy preparing a cake for his birthday the next day, so he takes a walk in the snow outside. However, where Jon is almost permanently thinking about his mother, Vibeke, on the other hand, rarely gives Jon a thought. She also goes out for the evening. Jon is searching for his mother’s love. His mother is searching elsewhere for love. At the fairground, Vibeke encounters a white-haired lady and then meets Tom whom she stays with for several hours. Meanwhile, the white-haired lady appears in Jon’s narrative.
What makes this book memorable is the continuous sense that something sinister will happen on the next page.
This is a very short book that can easily be read in a single sitting (assuming you have the kind of lifestyle that allows you to set aside periods of time for reading - my Kindle tells me the average time required to read the book is marginally under 2 hours). Vibeke would form an opinion about you based on how long it took you to read the book. As the novel says, ”She thinks the speed at which a person reads says something about the kind of rhythm they possess, the way they are in life”.
With its poignant ending, this is an excellent book that holds the reader’s attention by not telling them many things but giving them enough to set their imagination running.
November 10, 2024
98th book of 2024.
Voted one of Norway's top ten books of the last twenty-five years, Love follows a mother and a son over a single night. Vibeke on her own journey, and little Jon on his. It is the eve of the latter's ninth birthday. Ørstavik has immense control over the narrative which hops from Vibeke to Jon, sometimes sentence by sentence, with little to no overture or indication. The reader must keep themselves orientated for Ørstavik does not waste time holding your hand. There is so much dread throughout the book, but it explores the unconditional love a child can have for their parent. Sometimes that love is misplaced. Technically impressive and poignant.
Voted one of Norway's top ten books of the last twenty-five years, Love follows a mother and a son over a single night. Vibeke on her own journey, and little Jon on his. It is the eve of the latter's ninth birthday. Ørstavik has immense control over the narrative which hops from Vibeke to Jon, sometimes sentence by sentence, with little to no overture or indication. The reader must keep themselves orientated for Ørstavik does not waste time holding your hand. There is so much dread throughout the book, but it explores the unconditional love a child can have for their parent. Sometimes that love is misplaced. Technically impressive and poignant.
July 5, 2023
Αυτο το βιβλιο θα μπορουσε να ειναι μια αδιαφορη ιστορια ακριβως οπως και ενα υποκωφο αριστουργημα, all at once.
Θα δωσω πεντε ενθουσιωδη αστέρια αυθορμητα, χωρις να πολυαναλύσω το γιατί.
Ισως για τα μικρά πραγματα.
Την καθηλωτική οπτική της λεπτομερειας.
Την πορεια σκεψης του παιδιου που μου θυμισε τοσο πολύ τα παιδια μου αλλα κι εμενα την ιδια οταν ημουν παιδι.
Την αγωνία για το αγόρι οντας μάνα, την οποια πουθενα η συγγραφεας δεν θιγει, ισως και γι αυτο σε μενα εγινε τοσο επιτακτική και ενοχλούσε κατι βαθυ, κατι αρχεγονο, κατι ενστικτώδες: την προστασία του ανηλίκου.
Ολα συμβαινουν μεσα σ΄ ενα βραδυ - δεν αναφερεται καλα καλα η ωρα ή η πορεια της νυχτας. Ολα κυλουν φυσικά κι ασχολίαστα. Κι όλα αυτά που εκτυλίσσονται ειναι πολύ φυσιολογικά για τους ελευθερους ανθρώπους, τους αδέσμευτους, τους εργένηδες, όσους δεν τους βαραίνουν υποχρεωσεις, δεν τους δένουν παιδια, σπιτια δεσμοι κοκ. Για τους υπολοιπους ομως δεν ειναι ετσι. Υπαρχει κατι που μας κραταει πισω, στη δεσμευση, στην εγνοια, στην αγωνία, στο νοιαξιμο - στο caring. Εχω μια αμυδρή εντυπωση, ψαχνοντας τον τίτλο πρωτοτύπου, οτι αυτό σημαινει στα νορβηγικά - ή κατι τετοιο, παρομοι��, και οχι ακριβως Αγάπη - αν και δεν ειμαι και σιγουρη.
Κι αυτή ειναι ολη η λεπτη κοκκινη κλωστή που διαπερνά το κειμενο, χωρις να αναφέρεται όμως πουθενά, ουτε καν να υποννοείται - ο μιτος της Αριαδνης, που, νομιζω, πιεζει εσωτερικά όσους νοιαζονται.
Το ποσο ολα αυτα τα φυσιολογικά εκτυλισσόμενα γεγονοτα, ειναι εντελως αφύσικα, οταν για καποιον ν ο ι α ζ ε σ α ι. Όταν εχεις την ευθυνη του, κι αυτη η ευθυνη ειναι πανω απο του εαυτου σου (ή, ετσι θα επρεπε) Την ευθυνη μιας ευθραυστης ζωης, ενος ανηλίκου.
Ειναι τα μικρά πραγματα που δεν εχουν ειπωθει, αυτά ειναι τα σημαντικά αυτης της εξαιρετικής νουβελας.
Τα σπαρακτικά γενεθλια
Η αναμονή της μανας
Η ζωη της μανας που δικαιωματικά της ανήκει, αλλά δεν ξερω γιατι, δεν θα πρεπε να προηγειται απο του παιδιου.
Η άφατη προτεραιοτητα του μητρικού δεσμού
Και οι ξενοι εισβολεις ως διασπαση αυτής της θαλπωρής
Που, στην τελική δεν ειναι καν σημαντικοί. Ειναι αγνωστοι και ασήμαντοι.
(Μου αρεσε πολύ που δεν υπηρχε κριτική ή ηθικολογία στο κειμενο της Ερσταβικ. )
Νομιζω ο καθενας που θα το διαβασει θα βγαλει εντελως διαφορετικά συμπεράσματα, αναλογως των δικων του εμπειριών και προσλαμβανουσών, κι ακριβώς επειδη ειναι τοσο ιμπρεσσιονιστικά λιτό αυτό το κειμενο.
Το σκεφτομακι τοση ωρα. Και ολο και πιο πολλες σκεψεις κανω.
Για μενα αυτο ειναι Νobel material.
Αλλά αυτη ειναι μονο η υποκειμεινκή μου γνώμη, εχοντας ζησει την συγκεκριμενη ζωη που εχω ζησει - θα καταλαβαινα απολυτως και τον επομενο που θα εβαζε σ αυτό το βιβλιο ενα μονο αστερι και θα ισχυριζόταν "Μα τιποτε δε συμβαινει εδω"
Ετσι ειναι ακριβως, κι ομως δεν ειναι, all at once.
_______________________
*Μια καλη και μια κακή επισημανση γι αυτη την εκδοση: Ενθουσιαστηκα που η μεταφραση εγινε απευθειας απο τα νορβηγικά και μαλιστα απο εναν μεταφραστή που μ εχει ενθουσιασει στον άθλο του Κναουσγκορντ.
¨Ομως απογοητευτηκα που δεν βρηκα επιμελητη, γιατι πετυχα τουλαχιστον πεντε ορθογραφικα/συντακτικά ή τυπογραφικά λαθη μεσα σε εκατο σελιδες, κι αυτο δεν ειναι λίγο.
Ειναι κριμα και αφαιρει απο την ποιοτητα του εργου που κατα τ αλλα μοιαζει εξαιρετικά φροντισμένο σε εξωφυλλο, εκτυπωση, μεταφραση, γραμματοσειρα, χαρτί κοκ.
Θα δωσω πεντε ενθουσιωδη αστέρια αυθορμητα, χωρις να πολυαναλύσω το γιατί.
Ισως για τα μικρά πραγματα.
Την καθηλωτική οπτική της λεπτομερειας.
Την πορεια σκεψης του παιδιου που μου θυμισε τοσο πολύ τα παιδια μου αλλα κι εμενα την ιδια οταν ημουν παιδι.
Την αγωνία για το αγόρι οντας μάνα, την οποια πουθενα η συγγραφεας δεν θιγει, ισως και γι αυτο σε μενα εγινε τοσο επιτακτική και ενοχλούσε κατι βαθυ, κατι αρχεγονο, κατι ενστικτώδες: την προστασία του ανηλίκου.
Ολα συμβαινουν μεσα σ΄ ενα βραδυ - δεν αναφερεται καλα καλα η ωρα ή η πορεια της νυχτας. Ολα κυλουν φυσικά κι ασχολίαστα. Κι όλα αυτά που εκτυλίσσονται ειναι πολύ φυσιολογικά για τους ελευθερους ανθρώπους, τους αδέσμευτους, τους εργένηδες, όσους δεν τους βαραίνουν υποχρεωσεις, δεν τους δένουν παιδια, σπιτια δεσμοι κοκ. Για τους υπολοιπους ομως δεν ειναι ετσι. Υπαρχει κατι που μας κραταει πισω, στη δεσμευση, στην εγνοια, στην αγωνία, στο νοιαξιμο - στο caring. Εχω μια αμυδρή εντυπωση, ψαχνοντας τον τίτλο πρωτοτύπου, οτι αυτό σημαινει στα νορβηγικά - ή κατι τετοιο, παρομοι��, και οχι ακριβως Αγάπη - αν και δεν ειμαι και σιγουρη.
Κι αυτή ειναι ολη η λεπτη κοκκινη κλωστή που διαπερνά το κειμενο, χωρις να αναφέρεται όμως πουθενά, ουτε καν να υποννοείται - ο μιτος της Αριαδνης, που, νομιζω, πιεζει εσωτερικά όσους νοιαζονται.
Το ποσο ολα αυτα τα φυσιολογικά εκτυλισσόμενα γεγονοτα, ειναι εντελως αφύσικα, οταν για καποιον ν ο ι α ζ ε σ α ι. Όταν εχεις την ευθυνη του, κι αυτη η ευθυνη ειναι πανω απο του εαυτου σου (ή, ετσι θα επρεπε) Την ευθυνη μιας ευθραυστης ζωης, ενος ανηλίκου.
Ειναι τα μικρά πραγματα που δεν εχουν ειπωθει, αυτά ειναι τα σημαντικά αυτης της εξαιρετικής νουβελας.
Τα σπαρακτικά γενεθλια
Η αναμονή της μανας
Η ζωη της μανας που δικαιωματικά της ανήκει, αλλά δεν ξερω γιατι, δεν θα πρεπε να προηγειται απο του παιδιου.
Η άφατη προτεραιοτητα του μητρικού δεσμού
Και οι ξενοι εισβολεις ως διασπαση αυτής της θαλπωρής
Που, στην τελική δεν ειναι καν σημαντικοί. Ειναι αγνωστοι και ασήμαντοι.
(Μου αρεσε πολύ που δεν υπηρχε κριτική ή ηθικολογία στο κειμενο της Ερσταβικ. )
Νομιζω ο καθενας που θα το διαβασει θα βγαλει εντελως διαφορετικά συμπεράσματα, αναλογως των δικων του εμπειριών και προσλαμβανουσών, κι ακριβώς επειδη ειναι τοσο ιμπρεσσιονιστικά λιτό αυτό το κειμενο.
Το σκεφτομακι τοση ωρα. Και ολο και πιο πολλες σκεψεις κανω.
Για μενα αυτο ειναι Νobel material.
Αλλά αυτη ειναι μονο η υποκειμεινκή μου γνώμη, εχοντας ζησει την συγκεκριμενη ζωη που εχω ζησει - θα καταλαβαινα απολυτως και τον επομενο που θα εβαζε σ αυτό το βιβλιο ενα μονο αστερι και θα ισχυριζόταν "Μα τιποτε δε συμβαινει εδω"
Ετσι ειναι ακριβως, κι ομως δεν ειναι, all at once.
_______________________
*Μια καλη και μια κακή επισημανση γι αυτη την εκδοση: Ενθουσιαστηκα που η μεταφραση εγινε απευθειας απο τα νορβηγικά και μαλιστα απο εναν μεταφραστή που μ εχει ενθουσιασει στον άθλο του Κναουσγκορντ.
¨Ομως απογοητευτηκα που δεν βρηκα επιμελητη, γιατι πετυχα τουλαχιστον πεντε ορθογραφικα/συντακτικά ή τυπογραφικά λαθη μεσα σε εκατο σελιδες, κι αυτο δεν ειναι λίγο.
Ειναι κριμα και αφαιρει απο την ποιοτητα του εργου που κατα τ αλλα μοιαζει εξαιρετικά φροντισμένο σε εξωφυλλο, εκτυπωση, μεταφραση, γραμματοσειρα, χαρτί κοκ.
May 17, 2019
C’è una madre: Vibeke, un figlio di nove anni: Jon. Vivono da qualche parte, nell’estremo nord, in un piccolo paese dove si sono appena trasferiti. Il freddo, la neve.
Lei “legge tre libri alla settimana, spesso quattro, cinque. Le piacerebbe leggere tutto il tempo, seduta a letto sotto la coperta con il caffè, molte sigarette e una camicia da notte calda.”
Lui ha un tic, ogni tanto strizza gli occhi (la mamma dice che gli passerà da grande), elabora i dati del mondo attraverso la fantasia, come tutti i bambini. Immagina storie mentre vive. “Guarda la neve davanti alla finestra, pensa a tutti i fiocchi che ci vogliono per formare un mucchio di neve. Prova a contare quanti sono.”
La situazione è descritta con uno stile piatto, di cronaca: al presente, minuto per minuto, dilatando il tempo del pensiero e della percezione del mondo di ciascun protagonista.
Il dialogo è scarno, ma si capisce l’essenza forte del legame.
Dopo la colazione insieme ciascuno dei due prende la propria strada e a questo punto ogni capitolo contiene le azioni dell’uno e quelle dall’altra, senza soluzione di continuità. Non ci sono spazi per distinguere un vissuto dall’altro. Immagino per rendere l’idea della contemporaneità delle due situazioni.
E così la storia prosegue: Jon, tra una fantasia e l’altra, vende biglietti per la società sportiva(?); Vibeke intanto si fa bella: si fa il bagno, si toglie lo smalto vecchio con l’acetone, si pettina ecc ecc ecc. Fa la pipì. Seduta sul water la vediamo almeno tre volte nel corso del racconto. (Era necessario? Per accentuare l’effetto di realismo? Per dire che anche i personaggi hanno le stesse necessità delle persone? Mah).
Vuole andare in biblioteca ma alla fine va al Luna Park. Conosce un uomo che le piace. Si parlano, lei lo osserva bene (molto bene), costruisce dei pensieri intorno a lui, è attenta alle proprie sensazioni...alla fine vanno in un pub e fanno notte (no, niente altro); intanto Jon va da una sua amica e resta là fino alle undici e mezza: è notte anche per lui. (La madre forse crede che lui sia a letto, ma nessun adulto sembra preoccuparsi troppo di un ragazzino tiratardi).
Non proseguo per non rovinarvi la sorpresa. Anzi, ve la voglio rovinare: non succede proprio niente, sappiatelo. Ma potrebbe piacervi la stranezza della cosa, il minimalismo del linguaggio, l’ambientazione nordica, la notte che si espande, lenta. E magari anche il preponderante non detto che si riferisce, immagino, al titolo: Amore. Visto il costrutto, mi sa che tutto quell’amore bisogna andarselo a cercare da soli. O forse sono soltanto io che non ho capito. Il dramma, in fondo, è proprio dietro l’angolo.
Lei “legge tre libri alla settimana, spesso quattro, cinque. Le piacerebbe leggere tutto il tempo, seduta a letto sotto la coperta con il caffè, molte sigarette e una camicia da notte calda.”
Lui ha un tic, ogni tanto strizza gli occhi (la mamma dice che gli passerà da grande), elabora i dati del mondo attraverso la fantasia, come tutti i bambini. Immagina storie mentre vive. “Guarda la neve davanti alla finestra, pensa a tutti i fiocchi che ci vogliono per formare un mucchio di neve. Prova a contare quanti sono.”
La situazione è descritta con uno stile piatto, di cronaca: al presente, minuto per minuto, dilatando il tempo del pensiero e della percezione del mondo di ciascun protagonista.
Il dialogo è scarno, ma si capisce l’essenza forte del legame.
Dopo la colazione insieme ciascuno dei due prende la propria strada e a questo punto ogni capitolo contiene le azioni dell’uno e quelle dall’altra, senza soluzione di continuità. Non ci sono spazi per distinguere un vissuto dall’altro. Immagino per rendere l’idea della contemporaneità delle due situazioni.
E così la storia prosegue: Jon, tra una fantasia e l’altra, vende biglietti per la società sportiva(?); Vibeke intanto si fa bella: si fa il bagno, si toglie lo smalto vecchio con l’acetone, si pettina ecc ecc ecc. Fa la pipì. Seduta sul water la vediamo almeno tre volte nel corso del racconto. (Era necessario? Per accentuare l’effetto di realismo? Per dire che anche i personaggi hanno le stesse necessità delle persone? Mah).
Vuole andare in biblioteca ma alla fine va al Luna Park. Conosce un uomo che le piace. Si parlano, lei lo osserva bene (molto bene), costruisce dei pensieri intorno a lui, è attenta alle proprie sensazioni...alla fine vanno in un pub e fanno notte (no, niente altro); intanto Jon va da una sua amica e resta là fino alle undici e mezza: è notte anche per lui. (La madre forse crede che lui sia a letto, ma nessun adulto sembra preoccuparsi troppo di un ragazzino tiratardi).
Non proseguo per non rovinarvi la sorpresa. Anzi, ve la voglio rovinare: non succede proprio niente, sappiatelo. Ma potrebbe piacervi la stranezza della cosa, il minimalismo del linguaggio, l’ambientazione nordica, la notte che si espande, lenta. E magari anche il preponderante non detto che si riferisce, immagino, al titolo: Amore. Visto il costrutto, mi sa che tutto quell’amore bisogna andarselo a cercare da soli. O forse sono soltanto io che non ho capito. Il dramma, in fondo, è proprio dietro l’angolo.
February 26, 2020
Un libro frío y tranquilo.
Un libro del que esperas que ocurra algo y... nunca pasa nada.
Pero, ¿seguro qué no ocurre nada? Si nos ponemos a pensar en la historia, en esa madre y su hijo, si le damos varias vueltas a lo que hemos leído... Creo que pasan algunas cosas, sí.
Tristeza, esa palabra me viene a la mente después de terminarlo.
Un libro especial y diferente. Una buena lectura.
Un libro del que esperas que ocurra algo y... nunca pasa nada.
Pero, ¿seguro qué no ocurre nada? Si nos ponemos a pensar en la historia, en esa madre y su hijo, si le damos varias vueltas a lo que hemos leído... Creo que pasan algunas cosas, sí.
Tristeza, esa palabra me viene a la mente después de terminarlo.
Un libro especial y diferente. Una buena lectura.
November 21, 2018
«Muy muy lejos hay un lago.
En el lago hay una isla.
En la isla hay una iglesia.
En la iglesia hay un pozo.
En el pozo nada un pato.
En el pato hay un huevo.
Y en el huevo...
Siente que casi está a punto de echarse a llorar:
—En el huevo está mi corazón.»
🥀
«En mitad de la noche, en mitad del bosque, en mitad de una carretera desierta» una madre y su hijo se cruzan sin verse. La madre, Vibeke, va a la feria convencida de que su hijo está en casa, durmiendo. El hijo, Jon, deambula por el pueblo convencido de que su madre está preparando su tarta. Mañana cumple nueve años.
🥀
Hanne Ørstavik explora en esta novela las complejas relaciones madre e hijo, dos personas que ansían encontrar el amor y la seguridad pero desde distintas perspectivas y circunstancias. Muchos silencios, demasiados malentendidos y poca comunicación. Se da por hecho cosas que no son ciertas y el armazón aparentemente de hormigón se asemeja más a un endeble puente de juncos sobre un acantilado escarpado.
🥀
Dice la autora que cuando fue madre se preguntó: ¿cómo puedo estar segura de que mi hija sabrá que la amo? Y de esa semilla salió esta planta tenebrosa e inquietante que nos mantiene en vilo porque, aunque parezca que no pasa nada, pasan muchas cosas.
🥀
Cogí este libro sin expectativas, sin saber nada de él y me ha parecido un ejercicio narrativo feroz, con muchas capas, mucha nieve, mucha soledad. Me he quedado con ganas de saber más, pues la acción transcurre en apenas doce horas, pero también me ha encantado el mensaje que manda: no des nada por hecho; abraza, pregunta e interésate por los que amas, antes de que sea demasiado tarde.
#Amor #HanneØrstavik #MaternidadesLit #leoautorastodoelaño #narrativanoruega
En el lago hay una isla.
En la isla hay una iglesia.
En la iglesia hay un pozo.
En el pozo nada un pato.
En el pato hay un huevo.
Y en el huevo...
Siente que casi está a punto de echarse a llorar:
—En el huevo está mi corazón.»
🥀
«En mitad de la noche, en mitad del bosque, en mitad de una carretera desierta» una madre y su hijo se cruzan sin verse. La madre, Vibeke, va a la feria convencida de que su hijo está en casa, durmiendo. El hijo, Jon, deambula por el pueblo convencido de que su madre está preparando su tarta. Mañana cumple nueve años.
🥀
Hanne Ørstavik explora en esta novela las complejas relaciones madre e hijo, dos personas que ansían encontrar el amor y la seguridad pero desde distintas perspectivas y circunstancias. Muchos silencios, demasiados malentendidos y poca comunicación. Se da por hecho cosas que no son ciertas y el armazón aparentemente de hormigón se asemeja más a un endeble puente de juncos sobre un acantilado escarpado.
🥀
Dice la autora que cuando fue madre se preguntó: ¿cómo puedo estar segura de que mi hija sabrá que la amo? Y de esa semilla salió esta planta tenebrosa e inquietante que nos mantiene en vilo porque, aunque parezca que no pasa nada, pasan muchas cosas.
🥀
Cogí este libro sin expectativas, sin saber nada de él y me ha parecido un ejercicio narrativo feroz, con muchas capas, mucha nieve, mucha soledad. Me he quedado con ganas de saber más, pues la acción transcurre en apenas doce horas, pero también me ha encantado el mensaje que manda: no des nada por hecho; abraza, pregunta e interésate por los que amas, antes de que sea demasiado tarde.
#Amor #HanneØrstavik #MaternidadesLit #leoautorastodoelaño #narrativanoruega
November 8, 2019
There’s an aching feeling of loneliness as well as a foreboding sense of danger throughout Hanne Ørstavik’s short, razor-sharp novel “Love”. The story concerns Vibeke and her son Jon who have recently moved to small town in the north of Norway. The narrative continuously switches focus between the mother and son’s points of view without any line breaks or indications that it’s changing. This produces the curious effect of a synchronicity and connection between the two so the border between them appears to blur. But, as the novel continues, it becomes apparent there’s a dangerous disconnect as they embark on independent journeys deep into the night meeting strangers and driving separately through the freezing near-empty landscape. Jon is about to turn nine years old and he’s expecting his mother to bake him a cake to celebrate, but her mind is decidedly elsewhere. Although there’s little plot, a quiet tension hums throughout each section making this a deeply meditative, haunting and curiously mesmerising novel.
Read my full review of Love by Hanne Ørstavik on LonesomeReader
Read my full review of Love by Hanne Ørstavik on LonesomeReader
May 31, 2025
‘’A path into the forest, from a long-forgotten place.
Find the path and follow, its ribbon yours to trace.
Past trees and hillocks wander, to a splendid castle old,
In whose halls three ladies fine you shall at last behold.
The prince they there await, if ever he should come.
A song they sing to pass the time, a lonely, plaintive hum.’’
Story of a mother and her young son. Daydreamer, self-absorbed, and lonely. Loved it.
Find the path and follow, its ribbon yours to trace.
Past trees and hillocks wander, to a splendid castle old,
In whose halls three ladies fine you shall at last behold.
The prince they there await, if ever he should come.
A song they sing to pass the time, a lonely, plaintive hum.’’
Story of a mother and her young son. Daydreamer, self-absorbed, and lonely. Loved it.
June 11, 2018
A self-absorbed mother paints her nails and pursues a mildly interested carny while ignoring and neglecting her 9 year old son. The boy roams around town in the middle of the night in a disturbing series of random events. This is an eerie tale of disaster. A carny, a white wig, a nightclub, ice skates, snow snow snow. The tension grew and then I wondered, was it all a dream?
3.5
3.5
January 30, 2020
Raruno.
April 15, 2023
O carte cât o palmă, o lectură cât două ceasuri, un exercițiu de scriere foarte reușit. Nordicii au renumele de a-ți servi pe tavă ceva întunecat, sângeros, care-ți ridică părul în cap.
În "Iubire" nu e așa deloc. Nimeni nu ucide pe nimeni. Nu curge nici un strop de sânge. Oamenii caută înfrigurați căldura omenească, apropierea, îmbrățișarea mult visată. E nevoie de o zi și-o noapte, de-o inocentă, credulă madam Bovary, de un șir de naivități, scăpări, neglijențe, de visări cu ochii deschiși, pentru a ajunge în inima albă a iernii amestecată cu inima neagră a nopții.
M-am simțit în carte ca un cameleon. Am privit cu fiecare ochi altceva, ca și cum un plan opac, vertical mi-a separat partea dreaptă de cea stângă. Creierul a primit stimuli vizuali diferiți - fiecare glob ocular avea de urmărit un alt protagonist - și a făcut o poveste in care totul s-a suprapus și s-a amestecat, obligat fiind să mixeze imaginile. Ca și cum ar fi dat erori, erau momente în care ce era într-o parte se întâmpla și în cealaltă. Realitati diferite înregistrau scene identice. Întâlnirea cu un necunoscut și într-o parte, și în alta. Gerul, înghețul din degete și coapse, o vizită, două cești aici, doua cești dincolo, un drum cu mașina pentru mamă, un drum cu mașina pentru fiu. O durere pentru amândoi undeva în stânga frunții. Noaptea neagră. Gândul bun pentru bucuria anticipată care stă să vină. Lipsa gândului rău, nici o îngrijorare pentru sine. Perspectiva luminoasă, viitorul îmbibat de bucurie, viziunea unei fericiri meritate. Iubirea pe care vor s-o dea și cea pe care vor s-o primească. Iubirea. Dovada iubirii, darul din iubire.
Nu căutam cu toții iubirea? Nu ne imaginam în centrul acestui sentiment? Și ce scăpăm din vedere atunci când urmărim iubirea, fericirea? Nu cumva tot ce e în afara lor?
În ciuda elementelor cu totul obișnuite, a scenariilor în care pericolul este adus doar de amplasarea a doi oameni în locuri nepotrivite, la ore nefirești, senzatia de tensiune, de primejdie iminentă, există mereu. Ceva rău, întotdeauna difuz, neconturat, este foarte aproape. În mod paradoxal, se întâmplă ca ceva bun să fie tot atât de aproape. Un telefon, o explicație.
Un roman poate mărunt, dar scris ca la carte, cu forța unei demonstrații matematice. Un șir de erori, aberații și estimari greșite. Un rezultat în afara numerelor naturale. După egal ne-a dat cu minus, o balanță negativă.
Să zic și că ar lua un premiu pentru cea mai neinspirată copertă? Zic...
În "Iubire" nu e așa deloc. Nimeni nu ucide pe nimeni. Nu curge nici un strop de sânge. Oamenii caută înfrigurați căldura omenească, apropierea, îmbrățișarea mult visată. E nevoie de o zi și-o noapte, de-o inocentă, credulă madam Bovary, de un șir de naivități, scăpări, neglijențe, de visări cu ochii deschiși, pentru a ajunge în inima albă a iernii amestecată cu inima neagră a nopții.
M-am simțit în carte ca un cameleon. Am privit cu fiecare ochi altceva, ca și cum un plan opac, vertical mi-a separat partea dreaptă de cea stângă. Creierul a primit stimuli vizuali diferiți - fiecare glob ocular avea de urmărit un alt protagonist - și a făcut o poveste in care totul s-a suprapus și s-a amestecat, obligat fiind să mixeze imaginile. Ca și cum ar fi dat erori, erau momente în care ce era într-o parte se întâmpla și în cealaltă. Realitati diferite înregistrau scene identice. Întâlnirea cu un necunoscut și într-o parte, și în alta. Gerul, înghețul din degete și coapse, o vizită, două cești aici, doua cești dincolo, un drum cu mașina pentru mamă, un drum cu mașina pentru fiu. O durere pentru amândoi undeva în stânga frunții. Noaptea neagră. Gândul bun pentru bucuria anticipată care stă să vină. Lipsa gândului rău, nici o îngrijorare pentru sine. Perspectiva luminoasă, viitorul îmbibat de bucurie, viziunea unei fericiri meritate. Iubirea pe care vor s-o dea și cea pe care vor s-o primească. Iubirea. Dovada iubirii, darul din iubire.
Nu căutam cu toții iubirea? Nu ne imaginam în centrul acestui sentiment? Și ce scăpăm din vedere atunci când urmărim iubirea, fericirea? Nu cumva tot ce e în afara lor?
În ciuda elementelor cu totul obișnuite, a scenariilor în care pericolul este adus doar de amplasarea a doi oameni în locuri nepotrivite, la ore nefirești, senzatia de tensiune, de primejdie iminentă, există mereu. Ceva rău, întotdeauna difuz, neconturat, este foarte aproape. În mod paradoxal, se întâmplă ca ceva bun să fie tot atât de aproape. Un telefon, o explicație.
Un roman poate mărunt, dar scris ca la carte, cu forța unei demonstrații matematice. Un șir de erori, aberații și estimari greșite. Un rezultat în afara numerelor naturale. După egal ne-a dat cu minus, o balanță negativă.
Să zic și că ar lua un premiu pentru cea mai neinspirată copertă? Zic...
November 16, 2015
I don't know what to think of this. The dark snowy setting and the ending are great, but everything else is so weird that it kind of ruins the story.
First of all the night (=evening) open library, winter carnival and night (=night) open café.
O_O
I don't know this Norway. It's the north, but... how can the north have all of these things when the south has absolutely nothing?
And then the mother-son relationship that just proves that no, just because you can, you don't have to get children. Please don't, actually.
Moving on to the weird friendly visit at the random girl's house, whose parents seemingly don't find it strange that she has a little boy (9 years old) over at like 11 pm after being out skating. Again, the mysterious Norwegian north? Where people don't go to bed on work nights?
Finally, the world's most boring and most pointless date with the stupidest inner monologue I've ever read AND an absolutely bizarre part with the boy riding around with one of the carnival employees in her car, smoking, falling asleep, throwing up and eating candy.
All of this -- the weird and random evening of a mother and son, each out on their own adventures -- is intertwined in the same text, not separated by chapters, but just randomly thrown in together, one paragraph here, one there.
I have no idea what the point was, or if it was good.
First of all the night (=evening) open library, winter carnival and night (=night) open café.
O_O
I don't know this Norway. It's the north, but... how can the north have all of these things when the south has absolutely nothing?
And then the mother-son relationship that just proves that no, just because you can, you don't have to get children. Please don't, actually.
Moving on to the weird friendly visit at the random girl's house, whose parents seemingly don't find it strange that she has a little boy (9 years old) over at like 11 pm after being out skating. Again, the mysterious Norwegian north? Where people don't go to bed on work nights?
Finally, the world's most boring and most pointless date with the stupidest inner monologue I've ever read AND an absolutely bizarre part with the boy riding around with one of the carnival employees in her car, smoking, falling asleep, throwing up and eating candy.
All of this -- the weird and random evening of a mother and son, each out on their own adventures -- is intertwined in the same text, not separated by chapters, but just randomly thrown in together, one paragraph here, one there.
I have no idea what the point was, or if it was good.
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