Difference between revisions of "Heaven and Hell by Jon Kalman Stefansson"

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{{infobox
 
|title=Heaven and Hell
 
|title=Heaven and Hell
|sort=Heaven and Hell
 
 
|author=Jon Kalman Stefansson
 
|author=Jon Kalman Stefansson
 
|reviewer=John Lloyd
 
|reviewer=John Lloyd
 
|genre=Literary Fiction
 
|genre=Literary Fiction
|summary=Not quite the expected saga, but an intriguing and vividly crafted Icelandic tale of love and death.
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|rating=4
|rating=3.5
 
 
|buy=Yes
 
|buy=Yes
 
|borrow=Yes
 
|borrow=Yes
|paperback=
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|isbn=9781849164061
|hardback=1906694532
 
|audiobook=
 
|ebook=
 
 
|pages=240
 
|pages=240
|publisher=MacLehose Press
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|publisher=MacLehose
|date=September 2010
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|date=September 2011
|isbn=978-1906694531
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|amazonuk=<amazonuk>1849164061</amazonuk>
|amazonuk=<amazonuk>1906694532</amazonuk>
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|amazonus=<amazonus>1849164061</amazonus>
|amazonus=<amazonus>1906694532</amazonus>
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|website=
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|video=
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|summary=The salty life of an Icelandic fisherman meets the salt-of-the-earth yet incredibly poetic narration in this literary piece.
 
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Iceland, a hundred years ago.  From a place that is the very definition of rural and remote, a small fishing boat leaves for four hours' hard row to a profitable bank.  It carries six men on the way out, and five on the way back.  The deceased is the best friend – or perhaps only friend – of the main character, who is still young enough to merely be known as ''boy''.  When he returns to port he enters an almost Camus-like semi-existence, wondering just how much life is an answer, and for what, after the tragedy he has witnessed.
  
Iceland, somewhen about a century agoFive men and a young lad set out in their tiny oar- and sail-powered fishing boat, for codOn board are people with the strength to take part in a solid twelve-hour shift - rowing four hours to the fishing banks, staying there stably for the lines, then hauling them in and rowing home.  And that's not to factor in any temperament of the weatherUnfortunately it's not only knowledge of fishing these people have taken on board, for Icelandic men still like to dream of love, gaze nightly at the moon at the same time as their belles, and read stories of gods, romance and legendIt's a pity then these distractions will be fatal for one of the boy's five companions...
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Make no mistake, however, this book is not on the track of imitating just one proponent of the existentialIt certainly carries on every page, and in every sentence, an inimitable Icelandic flavourEven the narration is rarefied – at times it certainly makes you aware it is the collective 'we' provided by a nation of the deadThis existence allows the voice of the book to be both incredibly poetic and literary, yet also bluntly matter-of-fact, and always with an immersive present tense.  ''A dead man is so much heavier than one who lives, the sparkling memories have become dark, heavy metal'', we are told.
  
The first thing one notices about this book is the telling, which tries in its own way to be a legendary tale of some romance, and a kind of god itself.  The highly stylised narration actually seems to be from some ghosts, using first person plural to say why this tale is being told.  It's a rarefied, poetic telling, one that bursts into a form of authoritative definition ("the heart is...", "men are...") as much as it can absorb and present a wispier kind of flashback, or cutaway to those on land.
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This, then, is an eminently rich read, one that can patter through one's vision, or linger in glacial grandeur.  Characters come and go, events are drily portrayed, drastic and dramatic thoughts are registered by the narrator, and still the mood of the piece comes across, in what must be a brilliant translation.  It's one of those short-seeming, but absorbing, reads that takes a lot into account in the writing, the reading and the reckoning. I wasn't too keen on the vaguer elements, or the lack of surprise held elsewhere, and a late chapter that has us dwell on the histories of some people and buildings in the village through the thoughts of a minor character was a bit disposable, but all the same.
  
And once on land the longer of the two sections sees the boy venture out to resolve his issues surrounding his horror at the death, and possibly his own innocence and naivety about love at the same time.
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This is a distinctive little novel, of some distinction.
  
For me the first section was the more compelling with the nature of these lives so finely wrought.  We envy them nothing in their labours, save the simplistic emotions of success we might hope to share with them.  Life then is conveyed supremely, from the rules of the fishermen to the emotional lives of those they leave behind.  I had flashbacks of the Icelandic firewater brennivin every time it was mentioned, for all here smacks of realism.
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I must thank the publishers for my review copy.
  
For me part two was not so memorable.  A tautness was lost, and the narration did not quite survive the switch from telling us about a way of life to making us meet too many landlubbing characters too quickly.  They have slight quirks and so on that make them seem real - especially the dipsomaniac sea captain - but I had to work on logging who was whom, while thinking where both the boy (who by the way remains nameless throughout) and book were going.  That was a thought process I should not have been given the time and space for.
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A completely differenr adventure in rural Iceland can be had with [[I Remember You by Yrsa Sigurdardottir]].
 
 
But I have to mention the fact that any reader will be working with this novel.  This has the style of the lengthy, unusually-punctuated sentences.  They don't reach the excesses of some, but copious times you are bewildered by the number of clauses in the sentences.  When this works it adds a depth to the narration, and the ghosts become a lot more chatty, and all the stronger entities for it.  When it doesn't work they become merely stranger entities.
 
 
 
So it's their voice you hear at the book's opening and close, with a gamut of emotions in between.  And they carry on their vocal cords an awful lot of the soul of rural, historical Iceland, meaning that for all the dubiously large switch in nature from part one to part two, and for all the effort needed to stick with every imbalanced, hanging clause, this has a soul, an interesting, earthy feel and singular approach that means it is still worth recommending to the reader of more literary fiction.
 
 
 
I must thank the kind Maclehose Press people for my review copy.
 
 
 
We don't know of much Iceland-based fiction to similarly recommend, but we did enjoy [[Where the Shadows Lie (Fire and Ice) by Michael Ridpath]].  The mood of Mr Stefansson's book is probably more akin to [[Ice Land by Betsy Tobin]].  
 
 
 
{{amazontext|amazon=1906694532}} {{waterstonestext|waterstones=7577839}}
 
  
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{{amazontext|amazon=1849164061}}
 
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Revision as of 11:43, 28 July 2013


Heaven and Hell by Jon Kalman Stefansson

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Buy Heaven and Hell by Jon Kalman Stefansson at Amazon.co.uk or Amazon.com

Category: Literary Fiction
Rating: 4/5
Reviewer: John Lloyd
Reviewed by John Lloyd
Summary: The salty life of an Icelandic fisherman meets the salt-of-the-earth yet incredibly poetic narration in this literary piece.
Buy? Yes Borrow? Yes
Pages: 240 Date: September 2011
Publisher: MacLehose
ISBN: 9781849164061

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Iceland, a hundred years ago. From a place that is the very definition of rural and remote, a small fishing boat leaves for four hours' hard row to a profitable bank. It carries six men on the way out, and five on the way back. The deceased is the best friend – or perhaps only friend – of the main character, who is still young enough to merely be known as boy. When he returns to port he enters an almost Camus-like semi-existence, wondering just how much life is an answer, and for what, after the tragedy he has witnessed.

Make no mistake, however, this book is not on the track of imitating just one proponent of the existential. It certainly carries on every page, and in every sentence, an inimitable Icelandic flavour. Even the narration is rarefied – at times it certainly makes you aware it is the collective 'we' provided by a nation of the dead. This existence allows the voice of the book to be both incredibly poetic and literary, yet also bluntly matter-of-fact, and always with an immersive present tense. A dead man is so much heavier than one who lives, the sparkling memories have become dark, heavy metal, we are told.

This, then, is an eminently rich read, one that can patter through one's vision, or linger in glacial grandeur. Characters come and go, events are drily portrayed, drastic and dramatic thoughts are registered by the narrator, and still the mood of the piece comes across, in what must be a brilliant translation. It's one of those short-seeming, but absorbing, reads that takes a lot into account in the writing, the reading and the reckoning. I wasn't too keen on the vaguer elements, or the lack of surprise held elsewhere, and a late chapter that has us dwell on the histories of some people and buildings in the village through the thoughts of a minor character was a bit disposable, but all the same.

This is a distinctive little novel, of some distinction.

I must thank the publishers for my review copy.

A completely differenr adventure in rural Iceland can be had with I Remember You by Yrsa Sigurdardottir.

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