Your Absence is Darkness

A Novel
By Jón Kalman Stefánsson
Translated by Philip Roughton
Biblioasis International Translation Series

Whew!

This is a roller-coaster of a tale from one of the leading modern Icelandic authors.

On its surface it is the story of three generations of over-lapping Icelandic families and their successes and failures in love. It is told from the point of view of an anonymous narrator (who is also the author of the book) sprinkled with dialogs between him and a mysterious coach-driver (who happens to have a faint smell of sulfur about him.) As the tale unwinds, the coach driver interacts with the narrator—even suggesting rewrites!

It begins with the narrator finding himself in a church in a northern town in Iceland. He suffers from amnesia; people know him, but he only has glimmerings of who they are and why he is there. The narrator has fits of automatic writing from time to time, wherein he tells the story of a woman in Snæfellsness who, years ago, wrote a monograph about earthworms that caused her to look beyond her bleak existence and passionless marriage. There are about 20 other characters who interact with the story line, fortunately there is a dramatis personæ.

While it is set in modern, post-Covid, times there is a lot of rural Icelandic life and the narrative is quite earthy at times. There is also a playlist of mostly modern pop songs! 

What the book is really about is how passions and mortality shape our lives. Stefánsson also delivers numerous little digressions about various meanings of life throughout:

Each person has his own way in life. Some are open, other less so. Some people have a great need for companionship and a social life, others are inclined toward solitude. In whatever direction you lean, it doesn’t necessarily imply anything about your disposition towards your neighbour, those who matter to you. each has his own way, and no one should go against his nature. And naturally, everyone carries his own luggage. His wounds. His knots. Some struggle with them all their lives. And it appears that certain knots can only be undone by death…

There is a distinct presence of Halldór Laxness’ influence felt throughout, Under the Glacier in particular. It is, like all of Stefánsson’s work, well-written, but it becomes a bit much at times. Roughton’s translation is as invisible as one could hope for, given the novel’s peculiar nature.

Qualified recommendation.

Icelandic Book Reviews

Links to FITK reviews of books by Icelandic authors:

Alda Sigmundsdóttir

Arnaldur Indriðasson

Auður Ava Ólafsdóttir

Bergsveinn Birgisson

Bragí Ólofsson

Guðrún Mínervudóttir

Hallgrímur Helgasson

Halldór Laxness

Hildur Knútsdóttir

Jón Gnarr

Jón Kalman Stefánsson

Kristín Eiríksdóttir

Kristín Omarsdóttir

Maria Alva Roff

Oddný Eir

Olaf Olafsson

Ragnar Jónasson

Sigríður Hagalín Björnsdóttir

Sjón

Yrsa Sigurðardóttir

Þórbergur Þórðarson

Trilogy By Stefánsson

Heaven and Hell, The Sorrow of Angels, The Heart of Man


A trilogy by Jón Kalman Stefánsson

I’ve tangled with this Icelandic author before; I raved about Summer Night, and Then Comes the Night and had mixed feelings about Your Absence is Darkness.

This dense trilogy almost did me in. Its major theme is fatalism—death surrounds its protagonist, ‘The Boy’, as he blindly makes his way through ordeals in the unforgiving Icelandic sea, land and psyche. Not for the reader who is faint-of-heart. Stefanssón’s prose (and Philip Roughton’s translation) is always excellent, but where his other books were flights of imagination, these three are heavier, even turgid at times. I sensed a bit of dèjá vu (particularly in Sorrow) where I got the impression that this was recycled Halldór Laxness (without the humor.) If you are wondering where the authors who revel in elaborate language went, look no further.

One problem I had in reading these books is that I have burned out on Icelandic culture (I’ve been infatuated with it for nearly a quarter century) and, sometimes, enough is enough. If you are up for a challenge, and enjoy dense, grim books ruminating about death and despair, you might enjoy this journey. If not, beware!

Dinner Theater

        What is sweet through and through often makes us sad in the end ~ Jón Kalman Stefánsson

Early evening. The scene opens with a scowling old man wandering the streets of a trendy tourist destination on the California coast. He is a man on a mission.

Standing on a corner, three wyrd sisters see the old man approach, side-eying him as he totters by.

The man senses a whiff of irreverence from the trio as he continues on.

Finding an upscale restaurant he goes in and, after suitable deliberation, orders a very expensive dinner to go.

“It’ll be ready for pick up in 15 minutes… ” says the host. “I'll be back… ” says the man.

The old man steps out and ambles down the street toward the beach, idly exploring the town which is lit a rosy red from the setting sun. After a suitable length of time, he returns to the restaurant and picks up his order. The man begins to head back to his car and again encounters the trio of the loitering young women. They are still in the same place; a “girl-gang” with an attitude that some might perceive as threatening. But the man is not troubled—for what harm could come from such heavenly creatures? So young, so adorable, clad in fashionable glad-rags and mischievous attitudes? His gait picks up, his posture improves, and a smile breaks his dour mien.

Suddenly, they turn in unison, they are looking right at him! The man’s thoughts began to race…

omg… such impossibly smooth skin… the magic in their eyes is spell-binding… everything wonderful and mysterious in the universe is in these three sirens… their presence disarms my defenses with the implied offering: ‘Join us! Our union will create the new Eden where our children will dwell in a utopia of infinite opportunity… ’

                                                (!)         (!)         (!)

And then one of them, the boldest, steps forward and speaks:

“Hey! What did you get?”

“Uh, takeout dinner… Korean Bar-b-que.”

“Where did you get that?”

“Just down the street, the Pana… Pana…”

“The Pangaea?”

“Yeah,”

“Cool… ”

And, with a tossing of curls, the women are off in pursuit of their dinner.

It had been years since a teenage girl had even acknowledged the old man’s existence, much less spoken to him. He smiles, grateful for the brief moment of grace, but then his expression of joy quickly fades and his dolorous expression returns.

The old man walks into the wings of the stage holding the lonely box of take-out food in his hands in front of him, as if it were an offering. After he departs there is the sound of a car door opening and closing and an engine starting, then the sound of tires on pavement.

The sun sets and the stage becomes dark.

Mondays in Iceland -#121

Summer Light, and Then Comes the Night

A Novel by Jón Kalman Stefánsson
Translated by Philip Roughton
Harpervia, 2021

A masterpiece of literary art.

Now that those preliminaries have been dealt with, I’ll delve into some details about this wonderful book.

It takes place in a small town on the Icelandic coast, somewhere north-west of Reykjavík. The story  develops over about ten years, spanning the turn of the 21st century. There are modern innovations; the computer revolution, DVDs and other pop culture, but the people inhabiting the area remain relatively isolated—from the world at large and each other—seemingly living with a foot in the past and an inability to openly express themselves. Eight inter-twined stories examine the foibles and passions of these people, seasoned with a fair amount of parenthetical philosophy along the way. It gives the reader a broad and unflinching look at Icelandic mores and mentality. The love-affairs that thread throughout the stories portray participants who are part of a grander scheme of things that they can only dimly see and barely comprehend: the eternal struggle between love and biology is never far from the surface. At times it is very funny and, at other times, it is heart-breakingly sad. It has been filmed and is in post-production, many of Iceland’s greatest actors are in it (including Ólafur Darri Ólafsson and Kristbjörg Kjeld), if it is only half as good as the book it should be glorious.

The writing is magnificent and Roughton’s translation flows:

We speak, we write, we tell about big things and small to try to understand, try to grasp something, even the essence itself, which is, however, constantly moving away, like a rainbow. Old stories say that a man cannot behold the face of God, that doing so would destroy him; and without doubt, it’s the same for what we seek—the search itself is our purpose; the result will deprive us of it. And of course it’s the search that teaches us the words to use to describe the splendor of the stars, the silence of the fish, a smile and sadness, the end of the world and summer’s light. We do have a task, apart from kissing lips; do you know, by chance, how you say “I desire you” in Latin? And how you say it in Icelandic?

This is one of the greatest books I’ve ever read.

Highest recommendation.