Few books have meant more to me than the chronicles of Narnia. As a child I read them over and over, and even, after I had collected them all in Swedish, collected Narnia books in other languages as souvenirs. It is thus fair to say that I know the stories rather well, but I must admit that it have been a long time since I reread them. Calmgrove’s Narniathon seemed like a good time to do something about that and I have therefore revisited The lion, the witch and the wardrobe.
Most of the time when I reread a book I have at least partially forgotten the plot, but not this time. Every scene, almost every word, was familiar, but despite this I still enjoyed it. Sure, there are things I could complain about, the children all feel fairly flat and unconvincing, the narrator sometimes starts lecturing, but none of that really matters. What do I care about the Pevensie children? When I read a Narnia book, I am always the child that travels to Narnia. That C. S. Lewis created a world I could almost believe I could travel to has always been what I loved most about the Narnia books.
Apart from his excellent abilities for setting a scene I believe that there are three things in particular that makes my immersion in Narnia possible, Firstly, Narnia is a portal world, making it entirely plausible that I could travel to Narnia, unlike most Fantasy lands. Secondly, The chronicles of Narnia contain something that the author truly believed in. A story with a moral is often worse for it, but I have often found that the stories with something true (or believed to be true) at their core are the ones with lasting power. The chronicles of Narnia and my other children’s Fantasy favourite, The Brothers Lionheart, although very unalike, both have this is common. Thirdly, Narnia is created by an author who appears to believe in it. Perhaps not in a literal sense, but because Lewis wrote it with a strong Christian centre (which I completely missed as a child), he took it seriously. Other portal worlds, such as Oz or Wonderland, are written by authors who don’t take them seriously, they are interesting and fun, but I never found them believable in the way that I do believe in Narnia.
All in all I found my return to Narnia to be interesting and enjoyable. I had hoped to discover more new things in it, but I have read it so many times, and also reread it as an adult, although a long time ago, that it all felt familiar.
What I did discover this time was that the illustrations, although lovely, were not particularly accurate. The Narnian reindeer in particular seemed to have little in common with the reindeer I am familiar with.
Map indicating the author’s country of birth for all the books I have read in 2021 so far.
Nine months of the year has passed and it is time to lock back at my reading so far. Overall I had a really good reading spring, but since then my reading has slowed down to about one book a week for May-September, and I fear that I have spent much more time on youtube than I have with my books lately. However, thanks to all the reading I did in the spring my total statistics still looks rather fine, with 74 books read by authors from 22 countries.
Reading highlights April-September
We are not afraid by Gila Lustiger (published by Notting Hill Editions)
A wilder time by William E. Glassley (another excellent non-fiction from Bellevue Literary Press)
Writing on this blog has been slow for the past six months, I have published a total of only four blog posts (including this one), since my previous update in early April. Instead I have written a lot for work, finally publishing an article I have been working on on and off for years (rather technical so I won’t add a link). Perhaps now that it is out of the way I will have more time to spare for blogging.
A few years back I wrote a post explaining why everyone needs to read The Brothers Lionheart. This novel is known as one of the greatest classics in Scandinavian children’s literature, and with good reason. Although superficially a rather classical fantasy novel, it deals with questions of death, courage and family love in a way that few adult novels can match. It is a bit divisive, and certainly unusually dark for a middle grade fantasy, but it is also beautiful and though-provoking. I consider it one of my favourite novels all categories.
The last time I wrote about The Brothers Lionheart I carefully avoided spoilers but I just finished another reread and this time I want to discuss it properly. This blog post will therefore contain some rather large spoilers, including of the ending. Those of you who are bothered by spoilers and didn’t take my advice last time might want to stop reading here and go and read the book instead (it’s not a long read and, in my opinion, definitely worth it!).
That this is not our usual middle grade fantasy novel is clear from the beginning. Already on the first pages we learn that our narrator, nine-year old Karl/Skorpan/Rusky, is dying and afraid. His one comfort is his older brother Jonatan, who tells him stories about Nangiyala, the afterlife, a land full of adventures. And then not Karl but Jonatan dies, leaving Karl behind as the book reaches its darkest point, about 15 pages in. By the time we reach the third chapter Karl is dead too and as an emotional reader I’m definitely crying.
It is certainly a rough beginning, especially on adult readers, who might have a hard time believing in Nangiyala, but fortunately the novel doesn’t stay in that darkness. Instead things brighten considerably as Karl reaches the Cherry Valley, a beautiful valley in Nangiyala where Karl is no longer ill but able to run and swim and fish and ride, and above all to reunite with his beloved older brother.
Alas, that cheerful interlude can not last, gradually it is revealed that not all is not well in paradise either. What follows is plot-wise a rather traditional fantasy story with good vs. evil, just set in the after-life, but Lindgren uses that well known format to tackle some fairly heavy questions, and to prepare her readers for the ending, which in some ways is just as shocking as the beginning, only this time we are better prepared to face it.
Unreliable narrator?
A few things in the novel seem suspicious to an adult reader. Jonatan is rather young considering the things that he does in the novel, not to mention suspiciously perfect. It makes sense in one way as we see him from his younger brother’s perspective, and it is very clear that Karl loves and idolizes Jonatan, but from an adult’s perspective Jonatan does seem a bit too good to be true. There are also a number of convenient coincidences in the plot and a few allusions to Nangiyala as a “place where you get all you have wished for” and “part of an old-time dream” (my translations), all tempting a skeptical adult to suspect that Karl might not be a reliable narrator. That what we are reading is his feverish dreams, and that he only really dies at the end of the book. In that reading we get a beautiful but sad story of a young boy who uses the memories of his brother’s love and stories to find the courage to face his own death.
Explaining everything away as a dream is usually, rightly, considered a lazy way out for an author, but that reading assumes that Karl is in fact an unreliable narrator. Lindgren clearly opened the story for such an interpretation, but although it is always tempting to assume that the hidden and cynical read is the truer one, I am not sure that it applies in this case. Lindgren was a children’s author and she always wrote primarily for the child. It can thus easily be argued that the straight-forward read, assuming Karl to be a reliable narrator, is the primary one and that the alternate unreliable narrator variety was something she left for those of us too old and cynical to approach the story with child-like wonder. Either way the two alternate interpretations runs beautifully in parallel through the text, telling us a story about death and love and courage on whatever level we are ready to appreciate it.
Various things I like about the book
I love that it is so full of love. It may be dark but through it runs a thread of brotherly love strong enough to conquer death. I find that very hopeful.
I like that it shows courage as being afraid but doing the right thing anyway. Whereas Jonatan’s heroism is that of a fairy tale hero, and thus rather hard to live up to, Karl’s scared heroics seem more achievable, and in the end they are shown to be just as great.
I appreciate that it makes me face my own mortality, but also that it reminds me that it can be met with love and courage.
I like that it doesn’t glorify violence. That is a hard thing to accomplish when a central premise of the story is the fight between good and evil, but in this story the main heroes are a pacifist and his younger brother, neither of which is doing any fighting, but who are still shown to be true heroes. The ending is also in line with this message in that it shows that even a fight for the best of causes, there is one in the story, although our heroes are not fighting in it, will still cause irreparable harm. That even when necessary, and it is hard to describe the fight against Tengil’s tyranny as anything but, there are no pure happy endings after a war.
So is it a sad book? Yes, but it is also a hopeful book filled with death-defying love. I find it very comforting.
Have you read it? What did you think about it? I would love to discuss it with you! (With spoilers obviously, this is not a book that can easily be discussed in a spoiler-free way).
I thought I could try to ease my way back into blogging by posting some photos. Nothing much to see here (although I did have a good summer and finally reunited with my family), I’m just posting them in an attempt to get around my writer’s block. Hopefully my next post will be a proper one, possibly even about books…
My first-language is Swedish, but I read most books in English. A large proportion of my reading was originally written in English, and as I feel comfortable reading it in its original language, I see no reason not to. In addition it is often easier to find English translations than it is to find Swedish ones for much of the translated fiction that I read (although not for Nordic authors, plus reading Nordic authors in English feels wrong). As a bonus, reading in English gives me useful language practice and is often the cheaper option.
However, although I don’t find reading in English noticeably more difficult than reading in Swedish, the impact is different. Swedish is to me associated with real, living, breathing people. It is the language I use with those closest to me, in both mundane, everyday conversations, and for the words that changes everything. English on the other hand I associate with fictional characters who say things such as “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you” or “My name is Bond, James Bond”. To me the English words lack the solidity that Swedish has, I don’t think I consider English entirely real.
This dissociation when I read in English is not entirely negative. Although the very best Swedish literature speaks to my heart in a way that English never can, I am also much more sensitive to any wrong notes. I have a much easier time to suspend my disbelief and to accept e.g. a slightly awkward translation when I read something in English. I believe that I’m more likely to like a text in English, but less likely to love it. The same is true to an even higher degree for film and TV. I quite enjoy a lot of mediocre US and British productions, but if something is in Swedish it has to be really good, or it is painful to watch.
In addition to Swedish and English I also read in Norwegian (both Bokmål and Nynorsk) and, more rarely, in Danish. Due to the similarities between the Scandinavian languages written Norwegian and Danish are both perfectly understandable to a Swedish reader, but not without some effort. In Norway I have heard it said that “Swedish is misspelled Norwegian whereas Danish is mispronounced Norwegian”, which describes the situation fairly well. Written Danish and Norwegian (especially the Bokmål variety) are rather similar, while Swedish is spelled quite differently. On the other hand spoken Norwegian and Swedish are much closer to each other than to spoken Danish.
To communicate across the language divides you need get used to the different spelling and pronunciation, and learn a few tricky words, but it’s much easier than learning a new language. My primary work language is “Svorsk”, that is Swedish with lots of Norwegian words thrown in, it is ugly but it works. However, living in Norway I of course also need to improve my written Norwegian (plus most of the library books are in Norwegian). I therefore try to read at least some fiction in Norwegian, but as it is more of an effort I tend to go for easier reads, such as crime fiction and thrillers. Crime fiction, both Scandinavian and British usually works fine, I have for example found that Agatha Christie works just as well in Norwegian and Swedish as she does in English, although reading her in three different languages makes it very hard to keep track of which titles I have read. Thrillers are different, although I disconnect from the text in a similar way as I do when I read in English, my language associations are very different, and I have a much harder time believing in an American hero doing impossible things if I read about it in Norwegian. It is still good practice though, and choosing page-turners is a good way to counteract the reading resistance that comes from the extra effort it takes me to read in Norwegian.
Based on my reading statistics the beginning of 2021 seems to have been great for reading. So far I have read 47 books by authors from 20(!) countries and ranging in style from Tolstoy to Ludlum. Normally that would have been a very good thing, but I think mostly that I have been hiding within my books. With closed borders emigration feels more like exile, and I have been very homesick lately. I have had some really good reading experiences lately though, In February the Read Indies month made me discover severalinterestingbooks, and more recently I finally took the time to read Anna Karenina.
For Easter my focus is on crime novels, Påskekrim, as that is the Norwegian tradition. I started with Margery Allingham’s fine WW2 thriller Traitor’s Purse, where the main characters amnesia adds complexities to the character and makes the plot feel more like a nightmare.
Having been intrigued by the way the fictional characters’ amnesia added to the mystery I decided that it was time to finally read another famous amnesia thriller, Ludlum’s The Bourne Identity, and I also re-watched the film. I wasn’t very impressed by the book, although I did not do it any favour by reading it in Norwegian, I can never take thrillers in Norwegian seriously, it just sounds wrong. However, the central idea of a man with amnesia who has no idea of who he is, but who quickly realizes that he has some disturbing skills and that everyone he meets seems to want to kill him, is excellent thriller material, as proven by the much better film version.
Reading the two books right after each other was interesting though, as it allowed me to compare how the authors used the trope to drive the plot and add complexities to the character’s sense of identity. If anyone knows of any other good amnesia thrillers or crime novels I wouldn’t mind adding a third title to my comparison.
It is done! I have finally read all of Anna Karenina! My first attempt a few years ago ended around page 200, but as I have been bored and in need of some sort of project, I recently decided to make a second attempt. This time I really enjoyed it!
I was still not very interested in the title character’s story arc, but that is really only one strand in this complex novel. Rather than writing a simple love story, Tolstoy dissects a section of Russian upper class society, includes several story arcs, and shows the events from multiple perspectives by letting us follow the thoughts of many in the large cast. The result is a rich story, filled with characters that are flawed, but for the most part easy to like (my favourites were Levin, Kitty and Dolly).
I am sure I missed a lot during this first read and I hope to return to it again, if not to reread all of it so at least to revisit some favourite scenes, but for no I am satisfied that it is finished.
I felt it was time for another reread of a childhood favourite, this time of Ronia the Robber’s daughter (Ronja rövardotter) by Astrid Lindgren. In it we follow Ronia/Ronja, daughter to the chief in a clan of robbers, as she explores the world around her and decides on her own future. A sort of bildungsroman in the shape of a middle-grade adventure novel.
Ronia’s need to balance her obligations to herself, to her family, and to her friend, forms the central conflict of the novel, with a particular highlight being the complicated father-daughter relationship. Parents in children’s fiction are usually either very good or very bad, or absent, but here we get a father who loves his child more than anything in the world, but who still manages to be a pretty terrible parent.
I guess that technically the novel would be classified a Fantasy novel, considering that the forest that Ronia spends most of her time in is full of vaguely mythological creatures, but it doesn’t feel like one. Rumpnissar, grådvärgar and vildvittror, are all the kind of creatures that almost exists, and which may perhaps still be glimpsed in the shadows on a dark night. In fact one of the things I love with this novel is how real the forest feels. My own childhood forest was a boring planted spruce forest, but exploring it I still felt much of the same sense of adventure as Ronia does in her more magical one.
Most of Lindgren’s novels have at least a small streak of darkness in them, but her Fantasy novels are among her darkest and most interesting ones. Although The Brothers Lionheart is my favourite Lindgren novel, Ronia is a close second, and is perhaps an even better, or at least less controversial, introduction to her novels. Highly recommended for both children and adults!
To finish the ReadIndies month I thought I’d present some of the indie publishers on my bookshelves, together with some recommendations from each of them.
Favourite indie publishers
Slightly Foxed
Excellent memoirs in a beautiful format, the Slightly Foxed Editions are very easy to love. I have
Sharp, short and hard-hitting translated fiction, Peirene Press is one of my favourite publishers. I have liked almost all of the Peirene Press books I have read so far but The Last Summer is my favourite.
Beautiful, illustrated editions of well-known works. If you are looking for a luxury edition of a favourite book, a special gift, or just really love interesting illustrations and book designs, Folio Society is a good place to start. Expensive though, although they sometimes have sales.
Notting Hill Editions is close to becoming another favourite publisher of mine. They publish small cloth covered collections of essays and similar texts. The format is rather similar to the Slightly Foxed editions, but with a more modern look. My favourite so far has been Deborah Levy’s short memoir “Things I don’t want to know”, but most of them seems interesting.
Pushkin Press
I haven’t read much from Pushkin press but they did publish A woman in the polar night, one of my favourite reads last year.
And Other Stories
And Other Stories publishes a substantial proportion of translated fiction, which I like, but so far I have only bought two novels by from them, both by César Aira. I liked The Lime Tree but the other, The Seamstress And The Wind, was too weird for me.
Ayebia
Is another interesting publisher, focused on African and Carribean literature, but another one I am not yet very familiar with. For my first read from them I decided to start with African Love Stories, an anthology. I am only halfway through it, but am enjoying it so far, and have been introduced to several interesting authors that were new to me.
Indiebooks
Indiebooks have republished the first three books about Worrals. I was not too impressed by the design but they were quite fun to read, especially the first one.
My next book for my ReadIndies month is A Mathematician’s Lament by Paul Lockhart, published by Bellevue Literary Press. A book I was fortunate to stumble upon at a local mini library/book swap.
The author is a research mathematician who began teaching in schools, and his lament centres on how mathematics education is focused on boring, repetitive, technical exercises, rather than seeing mathematics as an art form.
A good rant by someone who is passionate and knowledgable about a topic is usually fun to read, and this short book is no exception. While he discusses the problems in the US education system, it is recognizable to all of us who have wondered how the creative and beautiful subject that is mathematics, can be taught in such a boring way in schools. His solutions may be somewhat extreme, but that makes it a great starting point for discussions. All in all I found it both interesting and thought-provoking.
The publisher also seems promising, focused as they are on books at the intersection between arts and science. Having enjoyed this book I went to their website and immediately added three more titles to my wish-list.
I read that in a book 