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Heimsljós #1
World Light
As an unloved foster child on a farm in rural Iceland, Ólafur Kárason has only one consolation: the belief that one day he will be a great poet. The indifference and contempt of most of the people around him only reinforces his sense of destiny, for in Iceland poets are as likely to be scorned as they are to be revered. Over the ensuing years, Ólafur comes to lead the paradigmatic poet’s life of poverty, loneliness, ruinous love affairs and sexual scandal. But he will never attain anything like greatness.
As imagined by Nobel Prize winner Halldór Laxness in this magnificently humane novel, what might be cruel farce achieves pathos and genuine exaltation. For as Ólafur’s ambition drives him onward–and into the orbits of an unstable spiritualist, a shady entrepreneur, and several susceptible women–World Light demonstrates how the creative spirit can survive in even the most crushing environment and even the most unpromising human vessel.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
As imagined by Nobel Prize winner Halldór Laxness in this magnificently humane novel, what might be cruel farce achieves pathos and genuine exaltation. For as Ólafur’s ambition drives him onward–and into the orbits of an unstable spiritualist, a shady entrepreneur, and several susceptible women–World Light demonstrates how the creative spirit can survive in even the most crushing environment and even the most unpromising human vessel.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
626 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1937
About the author
Halldór Laxness
164 books707 followersBorn Halldór Guðjónsson, he adopted the surname Laxness in honour of Laxnes in Mosfellssveit where he grew up, his family having moved from Reyjavík in 1905. He published his first novel at the age of only 17, the beginning of a long literary career of more than 60 books, including novels, short stories, poetry, and plays. Confirmed a Catholic in 1923, he later moved away from religion and for a long time was sympathetic to Communist politics, which is evident in his novels World Light and Independent People. In 1955 he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature.
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February 7, 2017
With the mountains on one side
and rolling hills on the other,
lies a boy, in a bed
without a real mother.
While the waves lap the shore
with an icy wind blowing,
he looks to the light
as his mind starts growing.
With pen and paper in hand
he dreams of being a poet,
as the years pass on by
well, wouldn't you just know it!
No rags to riches tale here
only harshness and poverty,
for the poor old folk of Iceland
he would cause much controversy...
The boy in question is one Olafur Karason, an unloved child, placed in the hands of the local parish in northern Iceland after being abandoned in a sack by his mother. He would later declare looking back on his youth "you know there was a time when I was the unhappiest child in the whole of Iceland!". Raised on a farm with a foster family that lies by the shore, he would use the power of the elements to see beyond what everyone else can see, to some greater place, to see a bright beacon of light through his darkness, "that's it!, I will one day be a great poet". You know straight away there is something rather odd about this boy, he seems different from all others and is constantly beaten and attacked by his two older brothers who are vying for control over him, he humps the hay, herds the sheep, through the worst Icelandic weather imaginable. His Foster mother only sees him as a lazy wrench, but one day he would come down with an unexplainable chronic illness which would see him bed ridden for nearly four years, with only the light from a small window one of his comforts, the other being his writing, and particularly poetry to help keep his mind occupied.
The problem for poor Olafur is that the folk of Iceland are mainly people of God, and see poetry and poets as blasphemous and filth. Still in a state of ill health he soon realizes he is no longer wanted, and taken away to another parish. Helping to make this journey is a poet called Reimar Vagnsson, who takes pity on the lad, he is then introduced to a strange lady called "Porunn of Kambar", who appears to believe in elves, fairies and old mythical folklore, with confidence she speaks of being able to cure him of his illness. And low and behold, whatever happened actually worked!, and for the first time in his life, he is given life. As he starts to mature his one true dream and ambition will always be poetry, no matter what. Continually penniless, and living a hand to mouth existence, he would gain friendship, but also put up with the haters. Win over fair maidens, only to lose them. But the strong believes that define Olafur as a person never whittle away. Through pity, unnatural desires, lack of work prospects, possible war with the Danes, political turmoil, unions, bereavement, the disintegration of the fishing industry to outside powers, life is a constant struggle, and the last thing the people need right now is the ramblings of a simple minded poet.
The child with the red hair, the teenager who finds love and makes his own discovers about life, the young adult with a family, and later years the one who seeks redemption for a terrible sin, Nobel prize winner Halldor Laxness uses a compassionate fury in detailing the life of the poet. There is a Tolstoyan depth in his storytelling, a faulkneresque darkness with themes of faith and sinful undercurrants, but all with humorous insightfulness along the way. One of the first things to be said about the whole structure is it's a strange novel and never feels generic, eye-opening and in a way refreshing even though written in the late 1930's it's sense of time only becomes apparent in some not all of it's reading. The folk here in places might just as well have come from outer space, human relationships seem strange and distant, there is a difficulty in trying find resolution in the most mundane of circumstances. Our protagonist although strong in his own visions can't accept the real world around him (probably down to the awful first few years of his life), always in the realms of a higher seeing, even with wife and child.
World Light really is a true Icelandic powerhouse of a novel, the landscape plays just as much of an integral part in proceedings as everybody else, on many occasions it's so easy to take your eye of the ball and conjure up imagery of a bleak but heavenly beautiful land, of snow covered mountains, stormy seas, hills covered with rolling frozen fog and sheep grazing in the green valleys while the sharp light of the sun pierces the fluffy white clouds. Although Icelandic through and through, it could have been the time spend away from Iceland where a lot of Laxness's creative idea's came from, Russia one of the places he would travel, and that is evident here. Karason maybe a fictional poet here but is actually based on the real Magnus Hjaltason Magnusson (1873-1916), who had a similar upbringing to that of the fore-mentioned, But Laxness only uses this as a base, and his imagination never fails in his mission of creating less of a re-telling and more of a deep-rooted force of spiritual encounter for the people leading a semi-existence. Another thing to add is that the book is BIG!, at just over six hundred pages (adding also that this copy is bigger in physical dimensions than a standard sized book, and the text relatively small), and it always concerns me going into a mammoth read, will there be times when I happen to lose interest?, simple answer to that would be a resounding No.
The reason being it still feels compressed, and could have easily been greater in length without losing the quality.
I say there is humor and that's one of it's winning points, Laxness is so fond of mocking his characters at every given opportunity, bringing the real-life adventures some much needed lightheartedness, the tone and balance of using the right amount of emotions at the right times is also a great strength to have. This is not one of those books where it takes time to bed in or get use to, within the first few pages we are thrown straight into the poets situation and have immediately grasped just what sort of story Laxness it going to use, a dreamer drawn to the power of literature while the world around him carries on it's day to day routines. I am unfortunately unable to compare World Light with the other works of Halldor Laxness because this so far is all I have read.
Good things have been mentioned of "Independent People" and hopefully will get to this in time. . The one thing that was easy for me was giving the highest rating, it can have the brightest five stars in the northern sky!.
and rolling hills on the other,
lies a boy, in a bed
without a real mother.
While the waves lap the shore
with an icy wind blowing,
he looks to the light
as his mind starts growing.
With pen and paper in hand
he dreams of being a poet,
as the years pass on by
well, wouldn't you just know it!
No rags to riches tale here
only harshness and poverty,
for the poor old folk of Iceland
he would cause much controversy...
The boy in question is one Olafur Karason, an unloved child, placed in the hands of the local parish in northern Iceland after being abandoned in a sack by his mother. He would later declare looking back on his youth "you know there was a time when I was the unhappiest child in the whole of Iceland!". Raised on a farm with a foster family that lies by the shore, he would use the power of the elements to see beyond what everyone else can see, to some greater place, to see a bright beacon of light through his darkness, "that's it!, I will one day be a great poet". You know straight away there is something rather odd about this boy, he seems different from all others and is constantly beaten and attacked by his two older brothers who are vying for control over him, he humps the hay, herds the sheep, through the worst Icelandic weather imaginable. His Foster mother only sees him as a lazy wrench, but one day he would come down with an unexplainable chronic illness which would see him bed ridden for nearly four years, with only the light from a small window one of his comforts, the other being his writing, and particularly poetry to help keep his mind occupied.
The problem for poor Olafur is that the folk of Iceland are mainly people of God, and see poetry and poets as blasphemous and filth. Still in a state of ill health he soon realizes he is no longer wanted, and taken away to another parish. Helping to make this journey is a poet called Reimar Vagnsson, who takes pity on the lad, he is then introduced to a strange lady called "Porunn of Kambar", who appears to believe in elves, fairies and old mythical folklore, with confidence she speaks of being able to cure him of his illness. And low and behold, whatever happened actually worked!, and for the first time in his life, he is given life. As he starts to mature his one true dream and ambition will always be poetry, no matter what. Continually penniless, and living a hand to mouth existence, he would gain friendship, but also put up with the haters. Win over fair maidens, only to lose them. But the strong believes that define Olafur as a person never whittle away. Through pity, unnatural desires, lack of work prospects, possible war with the Danes, political turmoil, unions, bereavement, the disintegration of the fishing industry to outside powers, life is a constant struggle, and the last thing the people need right now is the ramblings of a simple minded poet.
The child with the red hair, the teenager who finds love and makes his own discovers about life, the young adult with a family, and later years the one who seeks redemption for a terrible sin, Nobel prize winner Halldor Laxness uses a compassionate fury in detailing the life of the poet. There is a Tolstoyan depth in his storytelling, a faulkneresque darkness with themes of faith and sinful undercurrants, but all with humorous insightfulness along the way. One of the first things to be said about the whole structure is it's a strange novel and never feels generic, eye-opening and in a way refreshing even though written in the late 1930's it's sense of time only becomes apparent in some not all of it's reading. The folk here in places might just as well have come from outer space, human relationships seem strange and distant, there is a difficulty in trying find resolution in the most mundane of circumstances. Our protagonist although strong in his own visions can't accept the real world around him (probably down to the awful first few years of his life), always in the realms of a higher seeing, even with wife and child.
World Light really is a true Icelandic powerhouse of a novel, the landscape plays just as much of an integral part in proceedings as everybody else, on many occasions it's so easy to take your eye of the ball and conjure up imagery of a bleak but heavenly beautiful land, of snow covered mountains, stormy seas, hills covered with rolling frozen fog and sheep grazing in the green valleys while the sharp light of the sun pierces the fluffy white clouds. Although Icelandic through and through, it could have been the time spend away from Iceland where a lot of Laxness's creative idea's came from, Russia one of the places he would travel, and that is evident here. Karason maybe a fictional poet here but is actually based on the real Magnus Hjaltason Magnusson (1873-1916), who had a similar upbringing to that of the fore-mentioned, But Laxness only uses this as a base, and his imagination never fails in his mission of creating less of a re-telling and more of a deep-rooted force of spiritual encounter for the people leading a semi-existence. Another thing to add is that the book is BIG!, at just over six hundred pages (adding also that this copy is bigger in physical dimensions than a standard sized book, and the text relatively small), and it always concerns me going into a mammoth read, will there be times when I happen to lose interest?, simple answer to that would be a resounding No.
The reason being it still feels compressed, and could have easily been greater in length without losing the quality.
I say there is humor and that's one of it's winning points, Laxness is so fond of mocking his characters at every given opportunity, bringing the real-life adventures some much needed lightheartedness, the tone and balance of using the right amount of emotions at the right times is also a great strength to have. This is not one of those books where it takes time to bed in or get use to, within the first few pages we are thrown straight into the poets situation and have immediately grasped just what sort of story Laxness it going to use, a dreamer drawn to the power of literature while the world around him carries on it's day to day routines. I am unfortunately unable to compare World Light with the other works of Halldor Laxness because this so far is all I have read.
Good things have been mentioned of "Independent People" and hopefully will get to this in time. . The one thing that was easy for me was giving the highest rating, it can have the brightest five stars in the northern sky!.
January 28, 2024
This is the 2nd-best book I've read this year. The first was Independent People, by the same author, which is easily one of the 5 or 10 best books I've ever read. If you want to discover a truly phenomenal writer, one with as much pathos and humanity as tenderness and good humor, with some of the most stunningly beautiful passages imaginable... I would suggest Mr Laxness to you! No, I would almost demand that you let this saint into your life. These two books are something on another level altogether. He wrote with so much honesty and passion, warm and fuzzy yet cold and distant when needed. (He is Icelandic, after all). Reading Laxness feels like sitting in front of a blazing fire with wool socks, watching a terrifying blizzard from the single-plane windows of your house which may or may not stand up to the elements (but you hope that it does, so that you don't freeze to death, and can read all of his other novels when you're finished with one).
Laxness's protagonists are fairly impoverished and rather single-minded, simple on one level but intrinsically complex, and intelligent enough to scrape by. There are heaps of other characters buzzing around his epic tales, ranging from greedy tobacconists, hypocritical pastors and evil Christian men, strong-headed young women, tyrannical politicians, strange and lonely spiritual mediums, etc. Needless to say, most of the townsfolk we meet along the journey are quite grotesque in one way or many. The anti-hero of this novel is Ólafur, an orphan who "was sent away from his mother in a sack one winter's day." The first quarter of the book (originally published in four installments) details his awful childhood with equal parts sympathy and subtle anger. (The same can be said of the whole novel, really.) Weak and extremely unloved by all, he lives a bleak existence that somehow never quite becomes bitterness. His only solace is learning how to be a poet, which he does while in his sickbed for two years, meanwhile memorizing every knot and crack in the wood floor and ceiling in his corner of the cold hut. He soon comes across a book, a sole book, which he reads in private, knowing that the house would be outraged if he were caught reading a "filthy" book (meaning any book that is not the Bible). Alas, he is caught and the book is burned in a tragic episode. "Admittedly he had never understood the book, but that did not matter. What mattered was that this was his secret, his dream, his refuge; in short, it was his book. He wept only as children weep when they suffer injustice at the hands of those stronger than themselves. It is the most bitter weeping in the world. That was what happened to his book; it was taken from him and burned. And he was left standing naked and without a book on the first day of summer."
He eventually is ostracized from the house and taken on horseback to a faraway village. He is guided by Reimar the poet, the most popular in the region. He finally works up the courage to ask, “Don't you find it exceedingly difficult to be a poet, Reimar?”
“Difficult? Me? To be a poet? Just ask the womenfolk about that, my friend, whether our Reimar finds it difficult to be a poet! It was only yesterday that I rode into the yard of one of the better farms hereabouts, and the daughter of the house was standing outside, smiling, and without more ado I addressed her with a double-rhymed, quatro-syllabic verse that just came to me as I bent down from the saddle to greet her. No, it's not difficult to be a poet, my friend, it's a pleasure to be a poet.”
In this new land, he is free, though equally poor. His one desire is to write poetry all day long and look at the world around him. His only thought of the future is to write poetry, with no questions about food or employment. He seeks not friends, but only vaguely to be understood. In short, he's a bit naive...but he is, after all, only 17 at this point. "He went on composing poetry for most of the day, and reciting his poems to Nature and lying on his back on the grass and loving the sky. Late in the afternoon he drank some water from the brook. He was sure that the birds of the sky would bring him tidbits in their beaks whenever he got hungry."
His life continues on, with a handful of genuine (though mild) ups, and many downs. It is the saga of good Ólafur, who merely wants to be a true poet and not bother anybody. But in the process he somehow ends up bothering almost everybody... Surrounding him are all the narrow-minded and corrupt people in high positions, and the hard-working, hungry townsfolk who are more and more oppressed at every turn. Of course, much of the book deals with bleak things, but it's never bleak for long - there is good humor throughout, even in the speeches of the corrupt hypocrites, and even in the deep despair of young Ólafur. What's more, the genuine joy to be found in such simple things as the sun splashing onto the hair of a first lover in the morning, the glimpsing of a beautiful glacier, the divine power of feeling the heavens, the palpable spirit of an inspired poem...these moments fill your soul like they're actual breaths of fresh glacial air.
There's a lot about spirituality, and much talk about Christianity (especially the two religious leaders of the town, who are just about the opposite of godly men). Near the end of the book, however, we meet a pastor who often pays a visit to jails. Turns out this guy, at least, has a bit more of the kind, humane, gentle personality of the figure Christians are meant to look up to most.“If I have a face that rejoices in God's grace, my brother, it is because I have learned more from those who have lived within the walls [of this prison] than from those who lived outside them,” said the cathedral pastor. “I have learned more from those who have fallen down than those who have remained upright. That's why I am always so happy in this house.” I think it's fair to say that the reader will feel the same: reading this book, we learn more about goodness from those who have fallen than from those who have supposedly "remained upright."
I finished this book a month and a half ago, thinking I'd find the words to write a proper review about it. Those words are still avoiding me, so I'll just give up and tell you to read this book if you like books that have the power to change the way you think about life.
Laxness was a god among men, and these two books are incredibly inspired. Independent People was written before World Light, so I would suggest starting there, but that's like choosing between Rubber Soul and Revolver: completely pointless; you need them both in your life, and the sooner the better.
And here are a few more of my favorite passages!
-- "Was this perhaps life, then?—to have loved one summer in youth and not to have been aware of it until it was over, some sea-wet footprints on the floor and sand in the prints, the fragrance of a woman, soft loving lips in the dusk of a summer night, sea birds; and then nothing more; gone."
-- "Whoever thinks that beauty is something he can enjoy exclusively for himself just by abandoning other people and closing his eyes to the human life of which he is part—he is not the friend of beauty. He who doesn't fight every day of his life to the last breath against the representatives of evil, against the living images of evil who rule Sviðinsvík—he blasphemes by taking the word beauty into his mouth."
-- "Children should live a wholesome and natural life and go about with a mussel in one corner of their mouths and a shrimp in the other instead of sweets."
-- "I'm an extremely wealthy man. I own the sky. I have invested all my capital in the sun. I'm not bad-tempered, as you seem to imagine, nor do I bear grudges. But like all wealthy men, I'm a little frightened of losing my fortune."
-- “And here we sit on someone's threshold shivering in the night, you a hero and I a poet: two beggars.”
-- "The spirit of this penniless folk poet, whom the learned dismissed and the major poets despised, has lived with the Icelandic nation for a thousand years, in the smoky farm cottage, in the destitute fisherman's hut under the glacier, in the shark-catcher off the north coast when all fishing grounds are lost in the black midwinter night of the Arctic Sea, in the tatters of the vagabond who beds down beside a hill sheep in the willow scrub of the moors, in the fetters of the chain gang convicts of Bremerholm: This spirit was the quick in the life of the nation throughout its history. The five strings of the poet's harp were the strings of joy, sorrow, love, heroism and death."
Laxness's protagonists are fairly impoverished and rather single-minded, simple on one level but intrinsically complex, and intelligent enough to scrape by. There are heaps of other characters buzzing around his epic tales, ranging from greedy tobacconists, hypocritical pastors and evil Christian men, strong-headed young women, tyrannical politicians, strange and lonely spiritual mediums, etc. Needless to say, most of the townsfolk we meet along the journey are quite grotesque in one way or many. The anti-hero of this novel is Ólafur, an orphan who "was sent away from his mother in a sack one winter's day." The first quarter of the book (originally published in four installments) details his awful childhood with equal parts sympathy and subtle anger. (The same can be said of the whole novel, really.) Weak and extremely unloved by all, he lives a bleak existence that somehow never quite becomes bitterness. His only solace is learning how to be a poet, which he does while in his sickbed for two years, meanwhile memorizing every knot and crack in the wood floor and ceiling in his corner of the cold hut. He soon comes across a book, a sole book, which he reads in private, knowing that the house would be outraged if he were caught reading a "filthy" book (meaning any book that is not the Bible). Alas, he is caught and the book is burned in a tragic episode. "Admittedly he had never understood the book, but that did not matter. What mattered was that this was his secret, his dream, his refuge; in short, it was his book. He wept only as children weep when they suffer injustice at the hands of those stronger than themselves. It is the most bitter weeping in the world. That was what happened to his book; it was taken from him and burned. And he was left standing naked and without a book on the first day of summer."
He eventually is ostracized from the house and taken on horseback to a faraway village. He is guided by Reimar the poet, the most popular in the region. He finally works up the courage to ask, “Don't you find it exceedingly difficult to be a poet, Reimar?”
“Difficult? Me? To be a poet? Just ask the womenfolk about that, my friend, whether our Reimar finds it difficult to be a poet! It was only yesterday that I rode into the yard of one of the better farms hereabouts, and the daughter of the house was standing outside, smiling, and without more ado I addressed her with a double-rhymed, quatro-syllabic verse that just came to me as I bent down from the saddle to greet her. No, it's not difficult to be a poet, my friend, it's a pleasure to be a poet.”
In this new land, he is free, though equally poor. His one desire is to write poetry all day long and look at the world around him. His only thought of the future is to write poetry, with no questions about food or employment. He seeks not friends, but only vaguely to be understood. In short, he's a bit naive...but he is, after all, only 17 at this point. "He went on composing poetry for most of the day, and reciting his poems to Nature and lying on his back on the grass and loving the sky. Late in the afternoon he drank some water from the brook. He was sure that the birds of the sky would bring him tidbits in their beaks whenever he got hungry."
His life continues on, with a handful of genuine (though mild) ups, and many downs. It is the saga of good Ólafur, who merely wants to be a true poet and not bother anybody. But in the process he somehow ends up bothering almost everybody... Surrounding him are all the narrow-minded and corrupt people in high positions, and the hard-working, hungry townsfolk who are more and more oppressed at every turn. Of course, much of the book deals with bleak things, but it's never bleak for long - there is good humor throughout, even in the speeches of the corrupt hypocrites, and even in the deep despair of young Ólafur. What's more, the genuine joy to be found in such simple things as the sun splashing onto the hair of a first lover in the morning, the glimpsing of a beautiful glacier, the divine power of feeling the heavens, the palpable spirit of an inspired poem...these moments fill your soul like they're actual breaths of fresh glacial air.
There's a lot about spirituality, and much talk about Christianity (especially the two religious leaders of the town, who are just about the opposite of godly men). Near the end of the book, however, we meet a pastor who often pays a visit to jails. Turns out this guy, at least, has a bit more of the kind, humane, gentle personality of the figure Christians are meant to look up to most.“If I have a face that rejoices in God's grace, my brother, it is because I have learned more from those who have lived within the walls [of this prison] than from those who lived outside them,” said the cathedral pastor. “I have learned more from those who have fallen down than those who have remained upright. That's why I am always so happy in this house.” I think it's fair to say that the reader will feel the same: reading this book, we learn more about goodness from those who have fallen than from those who have supposedly "remained upright."
I finished this book a month and a half ago, thinking I'd find the words to write a proper review about it. Those words are still avoiding me, so I'll just give up and tell you to read this book if you like books that have the power to change the way you think about life.
Laxness was a god among men, and these two books are incredibly inspired. Independent People was written before World Light, so I would suggest starting there, but that's like choosing between Rubber Soul and Revolver: completely pointless; you need them both in your life, and the sooner the better.
And here are a few more of my favorite passages!
-- "Was this perhaps life, then?—to have loved one summer in youth and not to have been aware of it until it was over, some sea-wet footprints on the floor and sand in the prints, the fragrance of a woman, soft loving lips in the dusk of a summer night, sea birds; and then nothing more; gone."
-- "Whoever thinks that beauty is something he can enjoy exclusively for himself just by abandoning other people and closing his eyes to the human life of which he is part—he is not the friend of beauty. He who doesn't fight every day of his life to the last breath against the representatives of evil, against the living images of evil who rule Sviðinsvík—he blasphemes by taking the word beauty into his mouth."
-- "Children should live a wholesome and natural life and go about with a mussel in one corner of their mouths and a shrimp in the other instead of sweets."
-- "I'm an extremely wealthy man. I own the sky. I have invested all my capital in the sun. I'm not bad-tempered, as you seem to imagine, nor do I bear grudges. But like all wealthy men, I'm a little frightened of losing my fortune."
-- “And here we sit on someone's threshold shivering in the night, you a hero and I a poet: two beggars.”
-- "The spirit of this penniless folk poet, whom the learned dismissed and the major poets despised, has lived with the Icelandic nation for a thousand years, in the smoky farm cottage, in the destitute fisherman's hut under the glacier, in the shark-catcher off the north coast when all fishing grounds are lost in the black midwinter night of the Arctic Sea, in the tatters of the vagabond who beds down beside a hill sheep in the willow scrub of the moors, in the fetters of the chain gang convicts of Bremerholm: This spirit was the quick in the life of the nation throughout its history. The five strings of the poet's harp were the strings of joy, sorrow, love, heroism and death."
August 13, 2007
When I run out of the Laxness works that are available in English, I will have to learn Icelandic.
May 26, 2020
Að lesa Heimsljós er ein af mögnuðustu bókmenntaupplifunum lífs míns hingað til. Þótt bókin gerist á litla Íslandi þá fangar hún allan heiminn. Ég ætla ekki að reyna að koma því í orð. Vonandi gefst mér tími til þess að lesa hana aftur seinna í lífinu.
September 11, 2016
to be clear: i am not worthy to review an author of the caliber of Halldor Laxness. yet his novels stand on my "holy books" shelf, the one reserved for the titles i would take with me if the house were on fire, or if i were exiled to, say, lampedusa.
henry miller once said one would learn everything about the world by just reading a single book for the rest of one's life, and for me that book would have to be laxness' "independent people" - with "world light" a close follow.
words fail. this is not a book, it's a universe.
henry miller once said one would learn everything about the world by just reading a single book for the rest of one's life, and for me that book would have to be laxness' "independent people" - with "world light" a close follow.
words fail. this is not a book, it's a universe.
April 28, 2022
Это почти забытый роман Нобелевского лауреата Халлдора Лакснесса. История юного поэта-скальда Оулавюра Каурасона Льоусвикинга, брошенного матерью и замученного болезнями после травмы лягнувшей его в голову лошади и притеснениями приютившей его семьи. Тяга к поэзии, духовности и книгам пришла к нему очень рано. Ему посчастливилось встретиться с человеком, разбирающимся в кеннингах, старым Йоусепом, который бережно хранил свои тетради с записями прекрасных песен и вис (разновидность скальдической поэзии), которые он собирал всю свою жизнь. Просто для сведения читающих мой литературный обзор, основная масса скальдических кеннингов была написана в X-XIII веках. Мне было очень любопытно узнать об этом. Йоусеп не только познакомил его с образцами древнего стихотворчества, но научил его искусству чтения. «Читать книги — это еще не все. Их надо понимать.», - учил он мальчика. После того как Оулавюр Каурасон Льоусвикинг познакомился с книгами Йоусепа и с его комментариями к ним, литературные интересы юноши сильно изменились. Второй человек, который открыл ему законы рифмы, был скальд Реймар, сопровождавший его, когда он покинул хутор. Но юноша хотел сочинять на духовные темы, а не на традиционные скальдические темы – о мужчинах, женщинах и кораблях. Избавление от болезни произошло прямо таки чудесным образом: благодаря Реймару он встретил Тоурунн, которая вылечила его борной кислотой и наложением рук. С этого момента, начался скепсис. Эта тетралогия растянута, как эпос, наш герой влюбляется, разлюбляет, собирается жениться. Его невеста рожает ему детей одного за другим, но они все умирают. Так он проживает с ней 6 долгих лет, пока не решает уйти от нее. Его удерживают ее слезы. Он добрый и чудаковатый человек. Он переспит со своей ученицей с ее согласия, но его обвинят в насилии и правильно. Секс с несовершеннолетними, даже с их согласия – это преступление. Он встретит свою мать-портниху. Мы видим исландские рыбацкие деревни с их неторопливым укладом жизни, утонувшими сыновьями-рыбаками крестьян. Все это в очень неторопливом темпе. В общем, тем, кто хочет окунуться в деревенский исландский быт и узнать о скальдической поэзии, роман понравится.
Человек одинок по природе, его надо жалеть и любить и горевать вместе с ним. Люди, несомненно, лучше понимали бы и любили друг друга, если бы они признались друг другу в своем одиночестве, в своей мучительной тоске и в своих робких надеждах.
Человек одинок по природе, его надо жалеть и любить и горевать вместе с ним. Люди, несомненно, лучше понимали бы и любили друг друга, если бы они признались друг другу в своем одиночестве, в своей мучительной тоске и в своих робких надеждах.
February 15, 2020
,,Manneskjan er nefnilega einstæðingur í eðli sínu, og maður á að kenna í brjósti um hana og elska hana og syrgja með henni. Það er áreiðanlegt að manneskjurnar skildu hver aðra betur og elskuðu hver aðra meir ef þær vildu viðurkenna hver fyrir annarri hve einmanna þær væru, hve sorgmæddar í sinni seigpínandi kvíðafullu þrá og veiku von."
Falleg skilaboð í einstaklega fallegri bók.
Falleg skilaboð í einstaklega fallegri bók.
February 3, 2009
World Light is a mammoth novel, but once you start it you wouldn't want it any other way. It begins with Olafur Karason's childhood in an abusive household, basically an orphan, and spans his life till old age. He is bedridden throughout much of his childhood, and is eventually sent away to live in another part of the country. He is quickly healed and from then on leads a life of quiet simplicity, filled with troubles that affect him but never quite seem to bother him, as he (more then any other character) is aware of his own soul and essentially is on a quest only for light and love, poetry and God.
Olafur is a poet and a visionary, and essentially leads a life of loneliness. However, it is the abundant descriptions of the beauty he senses, feels, and always keeps within himself that sets him apart from the rest of the people in the Icelandic highlands. Olafur is a masterfully written character, always true to himself and his convictions. The other characters who impact his life are well done also, living lives of repression and duty who tend to sneak when no one's looking to hear Olafur's poetry and see the world through his perspective. The book is supremely entertaining throughout, with maybe just a slight lag in the middle when Olafur is in the middle of the Icelandic-Norwegian political issues dominating his town. I think that perhaps Laxness meant it to be that way, to portray the mundane and rigid world that Olafur had to escape from.
This is a dense, exquisite book that is every bit as potent as his other masterwork, "Independent People." It'll make you wish more of his work was in print. It may take a few rereadings to fully grasp the nuances in the story, but you'll want to return to it. You'll never look at a sunbeam on the ceiling the same way again.
Olafur is a poet and a visionary, and essentially leads a life of loneliness. However, it is the abundant descriptions of the beauty he senses, feels, and always keeps within himself that sets him apart from the rest of the people in the Icelandic highlands. Olafur is a masterfully written character, always true to himself and his convictions. The other characters who impact his life are well done also, living lives of repression and duty who tend to sneak when no one's looking to hear Olafur's poetry and see the world through his perspective. The book is supremely entertaining throughout, with maybe just a slight lag in the middle when Olafur is in the middle of the Icelandic-Norwegian political issues dominating his town. I think that perhaps Laxness meant it to be that way, to portray the mundane and rigid world that Olafur had to escape from.
This is a dense, exquisite book that is every bit as potent as his other masterwork, "Independent People." It'll make you wish more of his work was in print. It may take a few rereadings to fully grasp the nuances in the story, but you'll want to return to it. You'll never look at a sunbeam on the ceiling the same way again.
February 9, 2018
This novel is SO bizarre and requires patience but two months later I'm still thinking about it. If you're new to Laxness, I recommended reading Independent People first. But my god, the man can write. Every character gets in my head and stays there--permanently. I was inspired to write this review after scanning the last ten books I've read and realizing that this is one my mind keeps returning to. Unlike Wolf Hall, for example, which was a great read, but one I haven't thought about once since I finished it. Ah, Laxness. The love affair continues.
May 19, 2021
4.5 ⭐️
Being the adventures of an unloved would-be crippled poet…another beautifully told novel of Icelandic life from Halldor Laxness. This one one a little more epic-esque (???) One of the truly greats. I’ll continue to read whatever I can from him.
Being the adventures of an unloved would-be crippled poet…another beautifully told novel of Icelandic life from Halldor Laxness. This one one a little more epic-esque (???) One of the truly greats. I’ll continue to read whatever I can from him.
January 8, 2011
To read Icelandic literature means visiting the work of Laxness, considered to be their greatest writer and the winner of the Nobel Prize for literature in 1955. It seems the strength of his writing is in making broad statements about society/life, without explicitly coming to definitive conclusions. Anotherwords it is left to the reader to mull, debate, and contemplate their own place in life through the work. On a specific note we did have the great pleasure to visit the Haldor Laxness museum while in Iceland. He built a beautiful home and when he died his wife turned over the house as is with contents to the historical society. It is interesting to walk through, a life size time capsule, and see were he wrote his books and lived. Below are some pictures from our visit.
World light is the story of a young, feeble, unloved, poor, and abandoned boy who despite his circumstances gains an insight into the world of poetry and beauty. The story is broken into four sections, each detailing different points in his life, from beginning to end. While never fulfilling his truest desires, he never gives up trying to reach them. So I am of two minds; it is a sad book and yet it is a story of hope. Unfortunately the protagonist tries to stay aloof from the dull routine of the real world; the real world will not leave him alone. So we see a lot of hardship in his life as he blindly follows his passion without regard to what is considered proper, ultimately going to jail for sexually assaulting an underage girl.
What is the message to be obtained? For me, and I am open to debate on this, I see a man can pursue his vision of truth and beauty regardless of his circumstances in life. That is because beauty comes from within and it is not dictated by the world. That said, the book does provide some sobering lessons on those who chose to completely ignore the world.
Who should read it? Those of you who want to read a “classic” that is not American or English; or wants to experience Icelandic literature and culture. Having been to the country helps fill in the details that the brief descriptions provide within the text. If you only read one book by Laxness though, Independent People is considered to be his best
World light is the story of a young, feeble, unloved, poor, and abandoned boy who despite his circumstances gains an insight into the world of poetry and beauty. The story is broken into four sections, each detailing different points in his life, from beginning to end. While never fulfilling his truest desires, he never gives up trying to reach them. So I am of two minds; it is a sad book and yet it is a story of hope. Unfortunately the protagonist tries to stay aloof from the dull routine of the real world; the real world will not leave him alone. So we see a lot of hardship in his life as he blindly follows his passion without regard to what is considered proper, ultimately going to jail for sexually assaulting an underage girl.
What is the message to be obtained? For me, and I am open to debate on this, I see a man can pursue his vision of truth and beauty regardless of his circumstances in life. That is because beauty comes from within and it is not dictated by the world. That said, the book does provide some sobering lessons on those who chose to completely ignore the world.
Who should read it? Those of you who want to read a “classic” that is not American or English; or wants to experience Icelandic literature and culture. Having been to the country helps fill in the details that the brief descriptions provide within the text. If you only read one book by Laxness though, Independent People is considered to be his best
May 10, 2008
This is a novel about truth, beauty and art, to put it simply. It is abstract and often bizarre in both style and content.
The story is of Ólafur of Ljósavík, an orphan mistreated by his foster family and who spends much of his childhood lying in bed immobilised by illness until he is cured by an elf. It follows his entire life from early childhood, through many love affairs, a tortured marriage, several children, struggles with poverty and a stint in prison for sleeping with his teenage student, up until the death that releases him from a world he never understood. Ólafur is a poet (or at least he aspires to be one, and he never really does anything else), fascinated from an early age by writing and literature, and finding a greater truth in a supernatural world rather than his actual mundane existence.
He often seems to live on a plane apart from the miserable and lowly existence of his material life. He attempts to elevate himself through his art, bewildered by the realities of a world in which he never seems to belong. Ólafur is often frustratingly naïve, unrealistic and delusional, but simultaneously inspired with a beauty and childlike simplicity of soul. Sporadically he manages to free himself through bursts of inspiration in which he experiences true beauty, only to be repeatedly dragged back down into the mire of reality.
Laxness writes with a wry wit and there is a strong vein of satire running through the novel; although Ólafur ignores society as much as possible, Laxness does not. Those familiar with Laxness will have experienced his particular brand of humour, and he manages to poke gentle fun at his protagonist without out and out mocking him and his idealism. This is a brilliant work of art and one of Laxness' finest.
Og fegurðin mun ríkja ein.
The story is of Ólafur of Ljósavík, an orphan mistreated by his foster family and who spends much of his childhood lying in bed immobilised by illness until he is cured by an elf. It follows his entire life from early childhood, through many love affairs, a tortured marriage, several children, struggles with poverty and a stint in prison for sleeping with his teenage student, up until the death that releases him from a world he never understood. Ólafur is a poet (or at least he aspires to be one, and he never really does anything else), fascinated from an early age by writing and literature, and finding a greater truth in a supernatural world rather than his actual mundane existence.
He often seems to live on a plane apart from the miserable and lowly existence of his material life. He attempts to elevate himself through his art, bewildered by the realities of a world in which he never seems to belong. Ólafur is often frustratingly naïve, unrealistic and delusional, but simultaneously inspired with a beauty and childlike simplicity of soul. Sporadically he manages to free himself through bursts of inspiration in which he experiences true beauty, only to be repeatedly dragged back down into the mire of reality.
Laxness writes with a wry wit and there is a strong vein of satire running through the novel; although Ólafur ignores society as much as possible, Laxness does not. Those familiar with Laxness will have experienced his particular brand of humour, and he manages to poke gentle fun at his protagonist without out and out mocking him and his idealism. This is a brilliant work of art and one of Laxness' finest.
Og fegurðin mun ríkja ein.
September 25, 2016
Ένα εξαιρετικό βιβλιο που σε μεταφέρει στα βάθη της παγωμένης Ισλανδίας.
Ήρωας ένας νεαρός ποιητής ο οποίος απο μικρός ζει ο,τι χειρότερο μπορεί να ζήσει ένα παιδι ιδιαίτερα στο αφιλόξενο περιβάλλον της Ισλανδίας. Εγκατάλειψη, φτώχεια και διαμονή σε μια οικογένεια που τον μεταχειρίζεται σαν σκλάβο ��νώ η ενασχόλησή του με την ποιητική τέχνη θεωρείται κάτι σαν αρρώστια.
Ο ποιητής καταφέρνει να φύγει απο εκεί και να ξεκινήσει μια νέα ζωή σε ένα μέρος που αρχικά φαίνεται φιλόξενο. Αν μη τι άλλο, δεν ειναι τυχερός. Νέες κακουχίες, ψεύτικες υποσχέσεις απο ανθρώπους που προσφέρθηκαν να βοηθήσουν και ανθρώπινες σχέσεις στα όρια του απάνθρωπου, συνθέτουν ένα μαγευτικό και ιδιαίτερα κατατοπιστικό για την Ισλανδία έργο.
Το βιβλιο εκδόθηκε το 1978 στα ελληνικά, και πραγματικά με εντυπωσίασε θετικά η εξαιρετική δουλειά της μετάφρασης. Αν το βρείτε, διαβάστε το. Αξίζει τον κόπο...
Ήρωας ένας νεαρός ποιητής ο οποίος απο μικρός ζει ο,τι χειρότερο μπορεί να ζήσει ένα παιδι ιδιαίτερα στο αφιλόξενο περιβάλλον της Ισλανδίας. Εγκατάλειψη, φτώχεια και διαμονή σε μια οικογένεια που τον μεταχειρίζεται σαν σκλάβο ��νώ η ενασχόλησή του με την ποιητική τέχνη θεωρείται κάτι σαν αρρώστια.
Ο ποιητής καταφέρνει να φύγει απο εκεί και να ξεκινήσει μια νέα ζωή σε ένα μέρος που αρχικά φαίνεται φιλόξενο. Αν μη τι άλλο, δεν ειναι τυχερός. Νέες κακουχίες, ψεύτικες υποσχέσεις απο ανθρώπους που προσφέρθηκαν να βοηθήσουν και ανθρώπινες σχέσεις στα όρια του απάνθρωπου, συνθέτουν ένα μαγευτικό και ιδιαίτερα κατατοπιστικό για την Ισλανδία έργο.
Το βιβλιο εκδόθηκε το 1978 στα ελληνικά, και πραγματικά με εντυπωσίασε θετικά η εξαιρετική δουλειά της μετάφρασης. Αν το βρείτε, διαβάστε το. Αξίζει τον κόπο...
January 30, 2024
Finn ekki alla hlutana saman í einni bók hérna en i did that! ogeðslega löng og auðvitað misgóð eftir hlutum og köflum🔥🔥🔥😛😛 world light!!!
June 22, 2020
The story of a poet growing up in dire circumstances. Very well translated.
December 24, 2011
Wasn't the easiest book I've ever read. I almost abandoned it many times. The Wilde like aphorisms on love and poetry and politics started weighing me down. At some points it was one of those books that every line screams to be placed on the front of a quote card for someone like my fiancée to place upon her wall and ponder countless times. And that's all and good for a couple of lines, but there were millions. It became almost too witty. But that aside, I loved the book. The Icelandic allusions to sagas and poets and other historical/political happenings were lost within my slim, ok, zero, understanding of anything Icelandic (besides Sigur Ros). But I loved the idea of a poet, a poet who has never published a single word, sacrificing his life in trying find and define (through the failure that language turns out to be most to the time) beauty. He does an awful thing that places him in prison and still I do not hate Olaf Karason (nor do I forgive him). As an artist who may never "publish" a work of art again and is ok with that, I sort relate to him. Maybe I'm a shirker too?
March 11, 2015
This book's protagonist reminds me of a combination of Joyce's Stephen Dedalus and Voltaire's Candide. Enjoyable, and at times beautiful, this book really struck a chord with me. Certainly my experience was enhanced by reading this while I was in Iceland, but I would have enjoyed it even with little knowledge of Iceland. Outstanding book that reads like Joyce and Voltaire combined with Iceland as its setting.
September 22, 2012
For me a farewell, and glimmering recollection of Iceland. But more than that; a mirror. "Every transgression is a game, every grief easy to bear compared with having discovered beauty; it was at once the crime that could never be atoned, and the hurt that could never be assuaged, the tear that could never be dried."
July 15, 2019
Not bad, but not quite at the level of Independent People or Iceland's Bell, for the pretty straightforward reason that it's much harder to care about a mediocre poet than it is to care about the people in Laxness' other two doorstops.
April 20, 2018
Halldor Laxness is naar mijn smaak een van de meest terechte Nobelprijswinnaars ooit. Zeven van zijn tientallen romans zijn in het Nederlands vertaald, en m.n. "Onafhankelijke mensen" "Salka Valka" en "Onder de gletsjer" zijn naar mijn smaak onverbiddelijke meesterwerken. En de andere vier zijn op zijn minst ook prachtig. Voor wie mij niet gelooft: alle zeven boeken zijn vlammend en erg zorgvuldig gerecenseerd door Hebban-lid Robert van der Meiren, dus ik zou zeggen: lees die recensies, begin daarna aan een van Laxness' boeken, en geniet! Want er is enorm veel te bewonderen aan Laxness, die in elk boek zichzelf weer opnieuw uitvond en van elk nieuw boek iets totaal onverwachts, unieks en prachtigs maakte. En er is veel te bewonderen aan vertaler Marcel Otten, die al die ongehoord eigenzinnige boeken omzet in prachtig eigenzinnig Nederlands. Maar ja, van de zojuist genoemde Robert van der Meiren weet ik ook dat Otten nog drie pracht-Laxnessen zou willen vertalen, maar dat niet meer zal doen omdat De Geus hem niet in de gelegenheid stelt. Diezelfde boeken zijn echter wel in het Engels vertaald: "World Light", 'The atom station" en "The great weaver of Kashmir". En ik heb besloten om die Engelse vertalingen te lezen, ook al weet ik dat ze in het Nederlands van Marcel Otten vast veel mooier geweest zouden zijn, want Laxness is Laxness is Laxness is Laxness.
Ik las allereerst "World Light", dat door veel mensen als een van Laxness' meesterstukken wordt beschouwd, ongeveer van hetzelfde niveau als "Onafhankelijke mensen" en "Salka Valka". Daar kon ik helemaal in meegaan. Zoals gezegd maakt Laxness van elk boek iets heel nieuws, dus is het qua toon, stijl en structuur duidelijk anders dan die gekende Laxness-meesterwerken. Maar het is wel even verbluffend goed. En ook even verbluffend vreemd: Laxness schotelt ons een vierdelig levensverhaal voor van een fictieve dichter, wisselt daarin ongehoord intense lyriek af met hilarische humor, combineert soms in een enkele zin tot op het bot schrijnende tragiek met Monthy Python-achtige absurdistische slapstick, giet dat alles in een plot die mij door zijn volkomen dolzinnige verloop voortdurend verraste, en zo ontroerde en amuseerde hij mij 800 (!) bladzijden lang enorm. Juist ook omdat ik steeds niet begreep en nog steeds niet begrijp wat voor boek dit was: een soort met mythische taferelen doordesemde sage van een dichterlijke ziel of juist een totale parodie daarop; een "coming of age" roman over ontwakend dichterschap of een politiek-sociale satire waarin alles en iedereen wordt bespot; het levensverhaal van een tragische held die de grandeur van romantische idealen belichaamt of een langgerekte grap over een tragi-komische antiheld die elke grandeur ontbeert; een grootse poging om de glorie van de oude IJslandse dichters te doen herleven in deze moderne tijd of juist een demonstratie van hoe de totale ondichterlijkheid van deze moderne tijd elke herinnering aan de IJslandse klassieke dichters volkomen versmoort. Daarbij komt nog dat we maar weinig horen over wat de hoofdpersoon echt denkt, voelt en drijft: de verteller maakt ons deelgenoot van veel lyrische overdenkingen, maar bij diverse van de ongerijmde handelingen van de hoofdpersoon lezen we niets over zijn psyche. Waarmee Laxness misschien wil benadrukken hoe raadselachtig deze dichterlijke hoofdpersoon voor ons is. Of wellicht dat een diep lyrische ziel zoals deze hoofdpersoon in deze moderne tijden ons wel MOET voorkomen als een ongerijmde, onbegrijpelijke, tragi-komische, ten diepste niet navolgbare figuur. Iemand die totaal niet begrepen wordt door de maatschappij waarin hij leeft, en ook nauwelijks door de lezers van deze roman. Iemand die bovendien voor zichzelf een raadsel is, want de hoofdpersoon is een door zijn ouders verstoten wees die volkomen met zijn mond vol tanden staat bij vragen als wie ben je en waar kom je vandaan. Iemand ook die naar mijn smaak vrij middelmatige gedichten maakt (of zouden ze niet optimaal zijn vertaald!?), terwijl hij wel een heel intens lyrisch levensgevoel heeft dat hij kennelijk maar zeer ten dele in zijn gedichten kwijt kan.
Dat lyrische levensgevoel komt dus niet naar voren in de gedichtfragmenten die de verteller ons voorschotelt. Maar wel in vele van de passages waarin de verteller ons vertelt hoe de dichter naar de wereld kijkt. En dat leidt tot heel veel passages vol bizarre pracht. Laxness is echt geniaal op dreef als hij de ongehoorde muziek beschrijft die de dichter vermoedt te horen: de muziek van een bovenzintuiglijke Muziek der Sferen, die zich dan vermengt met een ongezien Hoger Licht. Kijkend naar een gletsjer ziet de dichter veel meer dan een gletsjer: "Where the glacier meets the sky, the land ceases to be earthly, and the earth becomes one with the heavens; no sorrows live there any more, and therefore joy is not necessary; beauty alone reigns there, beyond all demands". De dichter ziet niet een gewone, nederige en verlaten hut, maar "a landless, deserted hut, contemplating this remarkable meeting of land and sky where heaven and earth at last understood one another to the full". Ook heeft hij overwegingen als: "It was best to forget one's own world, both the world one had to endure and the world one longed for, the world one had lost and the world one might perhaps achieve, forget one's own life in the face of the beauty where mortality ends and eternity takes over: perfection, beauty as the supreme arbiter. No day which gave a clear view of the glacier could ever become commonplace; as long as the paths of heaven were open, each day was a festival, peaceful and yet without any connection with death, beyond poetry and painting". De dichter is uit onaangepastheid gedoemd tot totale armoede, tot ziekte, tot onbegrepen eenzaamheid, maar zijn dromen van een bovenzinnelijk ultiem "World Light" zijn grandioos, dankzij Laxness' magistrale pen. Zijn leven is doordesemd van allerlei bizarre liefdes, met vrouwen die spontaan uit het niets geboren te lijken worden als onaardse belichaming van Ultieme Schoonheid. Het zijn eerder lyrische vervliegende droombeelden dan fysieke vrouwen, efemere en illusoire verschijnselen die de dichter wel liefheeft maar ook weer snel vergeet. En die liefdes zijn dan ongelofelijk ontroerend en volkomen krankjorum, zoals ook de onaangepastheid van de dichter uiterst ontroerend en uiterst krankjorum is. Dus even tragisch als komisch. En juist deze volkomen tragikomische figuur, deze tranentrekkende en lachwekkende antiheld, krijgt dus het ene na het andere grandioos beschreven schoonheidsvisioen. Door de intensiteit en lyrische woordkunst van de beschreven schoonheidservaringen lijkt schoonheid iets zeer begerenswaardigs, maar dat wordt voor een groot deel ontkracht door het treurige lot en de tragikomische onbeholpenheid van de hoofdpersoon die deze schoonheidservaringen ervaart. Misschien laat Laxness daarmee zijn eigen twijfel doorschemeren over aard en waarde van schoonheid en dichtkunst in onze ondichterlijke moderne tijden. Misschien laat hij daarom de dichter ook lange dialogen voeren met een dichteres, die hem voorhoudt dat men gedichten direct verbranden moet. En misschien daarom laat hij de dichter eindeloze dialogen voeren met de socialistische dichter Orn Ulfar, die uiteindelijk niet voor schoonheid gaat maar voor solidariteit met de verdrukten. Wat een bijzonder sympathiek standpunt is, dat door Laxness erg eloquent wordt verwoord, maar dat wel de lyrische intensiteit mist die de anti-sociale hoofdpersoon soms zo sterk voelt.
In de zeer informatieve inleiding wordt dit boek niet voor niets een "surpassingly strange novel" genoemd. Ook zegt de inleider: "World Light, more than any novel I can think of, declares itself sui generis, summoning readers with its call to independence". Het is kortom een voortdurend heel ongewoon boek: de lyriek is intenser dan je in veel andere boeken ziet, de absurdistische slapstick is bovengemiddeld geniaal en hilarisch, en vooral ongewoon is de COMBINATIE van intense lyriek en absurdistische slapstick. Maar juist die ongewoonheid vond ik verrukkelijk prikkelend. Even verrukkelijk prikkelend vond ik dat het boek niet een simpele boodschap heeft van het type "schoonheid is alles" of juist "schoonheid stelt in onze tijden niks meer voor". De humor amuseerde mij mateloos, de lyriek vond ik prachtig, de raadselachtige combinatie van beide vond ik oneindig intrigerend. Door dat alles las ik alle 800 bladzijden opgetogen en goedgehumeurd. Ik ben dus blij dat ik van Laxness nu ook "World Light" ken. Hierna ga ik andere van zijn in het Engels vertaalde highlights lezen. En ooit, als ik nog grijzer ben dan nu, lees ik misschien alle Laxnessen in mijn boekenkast opnieuw.
Ik las allereerst "World Light", dat door veel mensen als een van Laxness' meesterstukken wordt beschouwd, ongeveer van hetzelfde niveau als "Onafhankelijke mensen" en "Salka Valka". Daar kon ik helemaal in meegaan. Zoals gezegd maakt Laxness van elk boek iets heel nieuws, dus is het qua toon, stijl en structuur duidelijk anders dan die gekende Laxness-meesterwerken. Maar het is wel even verbluffend goed. En ook even verbluffend vreemd: Laxness schotelt ons een vierdelig levensverhaal voor van een fictieve dichter, wisselt daarin ongehoord intense lyriek af met hilarische humor, combineert soms in een enkele zin tot op het bot schrijnende tragiek met Monthy Python-achtige absurdistische slapstick, giet dat alles in een plot die mij door zijn volkomen dolzinnige verloop voortdurend verraste, en zo ontroerde en amuseerde hij mij 800 (!) bladzijden lang enorm. Juist ook omdat ik steeds niet begreep en nog steeds niet begrijp wat voor boek dit was: een soort met mythische taferelen doordesemde sage van een dichterlijke ziel of juist een totale parodie daarop; een "coming of age" roman over ontwakend dichterschap of een politiek-sociale satire waarin alles en iedereen wordt bespot; het levensverhaal van een tragische held die de grandeur van romantische idealen belichaamt of een langgerekte grap over een tragi-komische antiheld die elke grandeur ontbeert; een grootse poging om de glorie van de oude IJslandse dichters te doen herleven in deze moderne tijd of juist een demonstratie van hoe de totale ondichterlijkheid van deze moderne tijd elke herinnering aan de IJslandse klassieke dichters volkomen versmoort. Daarbij komt nog dat we maar weinig horen over wat de hoofdpersoon echt denkt, voelt en drijft: de verteller maakt ons deelgenoot van veel lyrische overdenkingen, maar bij diverse van de ongerijmde handelingen van de hoofdpersoon lezen we niets over zijn psyche. Waarmee Laxness misschien wil benadrukken hoe raadselachtig deze dichterlijke hoofdpersoon voor ons is. Of wellicht dat een diep lyrische ziel zoals deze hoofdpersoon in deze moderne tijden ons wel MOET voorkomen als een ongerijmde, onbegrijpelijke, tragi-komische, ten diepste niet navolgbare figuur. Iemand die totaal niet begrepen wordt door de maatschappij waarin hij leeft, en ook nauwelijks door de lezers van deze roman. Iemand die bovendien voor zichzelf een raadsel is, want de hoofdpersoon is een door zijn ouders verstoten wees die volkomen met zijn mond vol tanden staat bij vragen als wie ben je en waar kom je vandaan. Iemand ook die naar mijn smaak vrij middelmatige gedichten maakt (of zouden ze niet optimaal zijn vertaald!?), terwijl hij wel een heel intens lyrisch levensgevoel heeft dat hij kennelijk maar zeer ten dele in zijn gedichten kwijt kan.
Dat lyrische levensgevoel komt dus niet naar voren in de gedichtfragmenten die de verteller ons voorschotelt. Maar wel in vele van de passages waarin de verteller ons vertelt hoe de dichter naar de wereld kijkt. En dat leidt tot heel veel passages vol bizarre pracht. Laxness is echt geniaal op dreef als hij de ongehoorde muziek beschrijft die de dichter vermoedt te horen: de muziek van een bovenzintuiglijke Muziek der Sferen, die zich dan vermengt met een ongezien Hoger Licht. Kijkend naar een gletsjer ziet de dichter veel meer dan een gletsjer: "Where the glacier meets the sky, the land ceases to be earthly, and the earth becomes one with the heavens; no sorrows live there any more, and therefore joy is not necessary; beauty alone reigns there, beyond all demands". De dichter ziet niet een gewone, nederige en verlaten hut, maar "a landless, deserted hut, contemplating this remarkable meeting of land and sky where heaven and earth at last understood one another to the full". Ook heeft hij overwegingen als: "It was best to forget one's own world, both the world one had to endure and the world one longed for, the world one had lost and the world one might perhaps achieve, forget one's own life in the face of the beauty where mortality ends and eternity takes over: perfection, beauty as the supreme arbiter. No day which gave a clear view of the glacier could ever become commonplace; as long as the paths of heaven were open, each day was a festival, peaceful and yet without any connection with death, beyond poetry and painting". De dichter is uit onaangepastheid gedoemd tot totale armoede, tot ziekte, tot onbegrepen eenzaamheid, maar zijn dromen van een bovenzinnelijk ultiem "World Light" zijn grandioos, dankzij Laxness' magistrale pen. Zijn leven is doordesemd van allerlei bizarre liefdes, met vrouwen die spontaan uit het niets geboren te lijken worden als onaardse belichaming van Ultieme Schoonheid. Het zijn eerder lyrische vervliegende droombeelden dan fysieke vrouwen, efemere en illusoire verschijnselen die de dichter wel liefheeft maar ook weer snel vergeet. En die liefdes zijn dan ongelofelijk ontroerend en volkomen krankjorum, zoals ook de onaangepastheid van de dichter uiterst ontroerend en uiterst krankjorum is. Dus even tragisch als komisch. En juist deze volkomen tragikomische figuur, deze tranentrekkende en lachwekkende antiheld, krijgt dus het ene na het andere grandioos beschreven schoonheidsvisioen. Door de intensiteit en lyrische woordkunst van de beschreven schoonheidservaringen lijkt schoonheid iets zeer begerenswaardigs, maar dat wordt voor een groot deel ontkracht door het treurige lot en de tragikomische onbeholpenheid van de hoofdpersoon die deze schoonheidservaringen ervaart. Misschien laat Laxness daarmee zijn eigen twijfel doorschemeren over aard en waarde van schoonheid en dichtkunst in onze ondichterlijke moderne tijden. Misschien laat hij daarom de dichter ook lange dialogen voeren met een dichteres, die hem voorhoudt dat men gedichten direct verbranden moet. En misschien daarom laat hij de dichter eindeloze dialogen voeren met de socialistische dichter Orn Ulfar, die uiteindelijk niet voor schoonheid gaat maar voor solidariteit met de verdrukten. Wat een bijzonder sympathiek standpunt is, dat door Laxness erg eloquent wordt verwoord, maar dat wel de lyrische intensiteit mist die de anti-sociale hoofdpersoon soms zo sterk voelt.
In de zeer informatieve inleiding wordt dit boek niet voor niets een "surpassingly strange novel" genoemd. Ook zegt de inleider: "World Light, more than any novel I can think of, declares itself sui generis, summoning readers with its call to independence". Het is kortom een voortdurend heel ongewoon boek: de lyriek is intenser dan je in veel andere boeken ziet, de absurdistische slapstick is bovengemiddeld geniaal en hilarisch, en vooral ongewoon is de COMBINATIE van intense lyriek en absurdistische slapstick. Maar juist die ongewoonheid vond ik verrukkelijk prikkelend. Even verrukkelijk prikkelend vond ik dat het boek niet een simpele boodschap heeft van het type "schoonheid is alles" of juist "schoonheid stelt in onze tijden niks meer voor". De humor amuseerde mij mateloos, de lyriek vond ik prachtig, de raadselachtige combinatie van beide vond ik oneindig intrigerend. Door dat alles las ik alle 800 bladzijden opgetogen en goedgehumeurd. Ik ben dus blij dat ik van Laxness nu ook "World Light" ken. Hierna ga ik andere van zijn in het Engels vertaalde highlights lezen. En ooit, als ik nog grijzer ben dan nu, lees ik misschien alle Laxnessen in mijn boekenkast opnieuw.
May 7, 2023
Besta bók sem ég hef lesið. Langaði eiginlega ekki að klára hana því ég naut hverrar einustu bls og núna langar mig bara að lesa hana aftur.
December 1, 2017
Not only did this take me a long time to read, but a long time to decide how to rate and review. I absolutely adored Independent People, despite its bleakness. Laxness' other bookend, World Light, prompted pretty much the opposite reaction. I found myself returning to Goodreads to try to understand how the majority of reviewers had unequivocally handed it 5 stars, with little success. I trudged through, relentlessly flicking to the end to confirm that yes, it was still 600 pages long, it didn't magically truncate itself, but that I would surely one day make it, debating many times whether or not to give in. Surely there would be some epiphany—the realisation of the novel's greatness would hit me and the Sisyphean task would slip into a leisurely walk through a meadow?
Finally closing for the last time the battered paperback that had been travelling with me for months, pleading to be picked up, I exhaled a long sigh. I didn't hate this book, but I hated the task of reading it. Laxness chose to do something here that didn't click with me; that I failed, no matter how hard I tried, to comprehend. I feel that, like Icarus, I brushed greatness but ultimately fell. I'm aware that I've read something of profound importance, undoubtedly a masterpiece, and a novel that has and will change people's lives, like Independent People did for me. But for me, World Light was agonising. In his introduction, Sven Birkerts writes that it is 'a surpassingly strange novel', that it 'declares itself sui generis, summoning readers with its call to independence'. It's true that the novel eludes and abandons any typical sense of plot, character, narration, and genre. It is historical, psychological, and political, and at the same time neither. The language is often spiritual and biblical, and resoundingly beautiful—that is undeniable. But for the most part I found it excruciatingly tedious.
So I'm going to be the black sheep amongst a herd of superlatively positive reviews. This is undoubtedly an incredible work of literature, but my experience was far from favourable. So I will settle in the middle, with 2.5 rounded up to 3 stars.
Finally closing for the last time the battered paperback that had been travelling with me for months, pleading to be picked up, I exhaled a long sigh. I didn't hate this book, but I hated the task of reading it. Laxness chose to do something here that didn't click with me; that I failed, no matter how hard I tried, to comprehend. I feel that, like Icarus, I brushed greatness but ultimately fell. I'm aware that I've read something of profound importance, undoubtedly a masterpiece, and a novel that has and will change people's lives, like Independent People did for me. But for me, World Light was agonising. In his introduction, Sven Birkerts writes that it is 'a surpassingly strange novel', that it 'declares itself sui generis, summoning readers with its call to independence'. It's true that the novel eludes and abandons any typical sense of plot, character, narration, and genre. It is historical, psychological, and political, and at the same time neither. The language is often spiritual and biblical, and resoundingly beautiful—that is undeniable. But for the most part I found it excruciatingly tedious.
So I'm going to be the black sheep amongst a herd of superlatively positive reviews. This is undoubtedly an incredible work of literature, but my experience was far from favourable. So I will settle in the middle, with 2.5 rounded up to 3 stars.
June 29, 2018
A quote from the author:
Human beings, in point of fact, are lonely by nature, and one should feel sorry for them and love them and mourn with them. It is certain that people would understand one another better and love one another more if they would admit to one another how lonely they were, how sad they were in their tormented, anxious longings and feeble hopes.
I think this sums up this book. It seems to me to be an attempt by one man, Olaf, who is a sensitive soul in this insensitive world, to find beauty and truth.
I can't say I found this book easy to read or at times enjoyable, and yet at other times the book lifted me up with sublime descriptions of the country and how Olaf felt when he was as one, communing with, his God. Life is made more bearable for Olaf by these transcendental moments of communing with a higher reality, which is filled with light and wonder. The writing at these moments is both haunting and sublime. The stuff of poetry indeed and not surprising that poets are a main theme in the book.
Overall I would say the novel is bleak and bizarre, but more importantly, also beautiful. There is a lot of satire in it and also some of the most beautiful spiritual moments in literature. This author knew how to write about such with a poet's heart and soul. There are so many places where this incredible writing of Laxness is quotable, too many to type, so I will quote just one:
“But whoever thinks that beauty is something he can enjoy exclusively for himself just by abandoning other people and closing his eyes to the human life of which he is part—he is not the friend of beauty. He who doesn't fight every day of his life to the last breath against the representatives of evil, against the living images of evil who rule Sviðinsvík—he blasphemes by taking the word beauty into his mouth.”
Human beings, in point of fact, are lonely by nature, and one should feel sorry for them and love them and mourn with them. It is certain that people would understand one another better and love one another more if they would admit to one another how lonely they were, how sad they were in their tormented, anxious longings and feeble hopes.
I think this sums up this book. It seems to me to be an attempt by one man, Olaf, who is a sensitive soul in this insensitive world, to find beauty and truth.
I can't say I found this book easy to read or at times enjoyable, and yet at other times the book lifted me up with sublime descriptions of the country and how Olaf felt when he was as one, communing with, his God. Life is made more bearable for Olaf by these transcendental moments of communing with a higher reality, which is filled with light and wonder. The writing at these moments is both haunting and sublime. The stuff of poetry indeed and not surprising that poets are a main theme in the book.
Overall I would say the novel is bleak and bizarre, but more importantly, also beautiful. There is a lot of satire in it and also some of the most beautiful spiritual moments in literature. This author knew how to write about such with a poet's heart and soul. There are so many places where this incredible writing of Laxness is quotable, too many to type, so I will quote just one:
“But whoever thinks that beauty is something he can enjoy exclusively for himself just by abandoning other people and closing his eyes to the human life of which he is part—he is not the friend of beauty. He who doesn't fight every day of his life to the last breath against the representatives of evil, against the living images of evil who rule Sviðinsvík—he blasphemes by taking the word beauty into his mouth.”
January 5, 2012
The appeal of this book was in the writing, not in the main character. Poor Olafur was a rather frustrating character. I could pity his condition, but so wanted to seize him and shake him! He saw beauty in nature and had a bland goodwill to all, including those least worthy of it, yet was quite oblivious of the need to support his family in any practical way.
There was a relentless bleakness in his condition. His brutal childhood is reminiscent of Dickens, or, in an Australian context, Albert Facey's "A Fortunate Life". It is perhaps unsurprising that he found beauty in the less earthly things. His lack of purpose is described aptly:
"Olafur Karason was like water which trickles through in various places but has no regular channel."
It was Laxness's brilliance as a writer which kept me going with this book. In the first part, one would think it was set in the 19th century or before, such was the squalor and primitive nature of life, then suddenly aviation and telegraphs are mentioned. Then there is the wonderful humour and irony throughout, a counterfoil to all the misery:
"Finally the bank had made it clear that it had exhausted its Christian forebearance, which is such a hallmark of these institutions..."
I am so glad that I read this after about five other Laxness books, for I may not have been so keen to persist with one of the greatest writers I have encountered. However, World Light was still well worth reading.
There was a relentless bleakness in his condition. His brutal childhood is reminiscent of Dickens, or, in an Australian context, Albert Facey's "A Fortunate Life". It is perhaps unsurprising that he found beauty in the less earthly things. His lack of purpose is described aptly:
"Olafur Karason was like water which trickles through in various places but has no regular channel."
It was Laxness's brilliance as a writer which kept me going with this book. In the first part, one would think it was set in the 19th century or before, such was the squalor and primitive nature of life, then suddenly aviation and telegraphs are mentioned. Then there is the wonderful humour and irony throughout, a counterfoil to all the misery:
"Finally the bank had made it clear that it had exhausted its Christian forebearance, which is such a hallmark of these institutions..."
I am so glad that I read this after about five other Laxness books, for I may not have been so keen to persist with one of the greatest writers I have encountered. However, World Light was still well worth reading.
October 23, 2013
Read this introduction in this paperback edition (first!): It says a lot about this very long and mostly somber book, in which 'not a lot happens.' It is difficult to say that the main character even has 'the strength of his own convictions' because fairly baseless moods seem to affect his inner life a lot, and strongly so, when they take hold of his mind and drive his actions (which are few, and not heroic ones. Example: as a teenage invalid, many of the first 200 pages of the book take place as he is confined for 4 years to his bed in a small attic room while his health so slowly improves...and those around him simply ignore his existence--for the most part.) This book is much more about the main character's inner life (impossible to call him a 'hero' and even hard to call him the 'protagonist' -- as he is so much more 'acted upon' than he ever 'acts' himself), and the inner lives of the other characters, than about any adventure or 'exoticness' or even scenery (on a big scale) that a book that takes place several places in Iceland could set forth: little or none of that here. As the introduction notes, the 'action' is so 'interior' (and 'mental') for much of the book, that there's often a slight shock when the reader encounters infrequent mentions of an airplane, a radio, labor-management conflicts -- or any of the other items that also characterize the early 20th century of Iceland.
May 23, 2018
From reading Independent People and Under the Glacier, I recognized Laxness' sardonic humor throughout the book and for the times I found myself laughing out loud, I had to give the book a starting point of at least 3 stars, however for it's length (600 pages) it didn't carry the same epic weight of Independent People. It's 4 parts seemed too removed from each other as we followed Ólafur Kárason, epic poet, through his life, which didn't allow me to rate higher than that 3-star point. Even his contemporary allusions to social upheaval, war and societal change were too disjointed to really challenge thought the way other Laxness' novels have done for me.
As I read in another review, Ólafur seemed less the protagonist who acted in the novel as much as someone acted upon by others, which dulled down the character. In part 3, he seemed the most energetic, but it ended rather slowly. Love figures prominently in Ólafur's journey and he steadfastly clings to his poetic art instead of world possesions an I can even tell the poet was happy at the last, but it still read like a tragedy which seemed to steal away from the lasting 'sunny' feeling that I unfortunately couldn't share with Ólafur.
As I read in another review, Ólafur seemed less the protagonist who acted in the novel as much as someone acted upon by others, which dulled down the character. In part 3, he seemed the most energetic, but it ended rather slowly. Love figures prominently in Ólafur's journey and he steadfastly clings to his poetic art instead of world possesions an I can even tell the poet was happy at the last, but it still read like a tragedy which seemed to steal away from the lasting 'sunny' feeling that I unfortunately couldn't share with Ólafur.
January 10, 2016
One of the most perplexing novels I've read - sometimes intriguing, sometimes dull, often truly sad. It describes the life of one man, Olaf Karason, from his austere beginnings as a baby being left in a sack by his mother with foster parents in rural Iceland, through a series of unfortunate events towards his ultimate self realisation of the creative spirit.
Unloved by his foster family, the child decides to become a great poet but suffers misunderstanding and abuse. His relationships are full of anguish, set against a backdrop of a harsh, impoverished Icelandic society, in which only the man who makes compromises with those in power seems to succeed.
I am not sure this novel entirely succeeds - it is certainly not in the same league as Laxness's "Independent People" - but the descriptions of Icelandic scenery against which the story is played, together with keen observations on life along the way, redeem it in part, perhaps summed up by the quote: "life is governed by opposites and is always in conflict with itself, and that's why it is life. To have lost what one loved most is perhaps the only real life..."
Unloved by his foster family, the child decides to become a great poet but suffers misunderstanding and abuse. His relationships are full of anguish, set against a backdrop of a harsh, impoverished Icelandic society, in which only the man who makes compromises with those in power seems to succeed.
I am not sure this novel entirely succeeds - it is certainly not in the same league as Laxness's "Independent People" - but the descriptions of Icelandic scenery against which the story is played, together with keen observations on life along the way, redeem it in part, perhaps summed up by the quote: "life is governed by opposites and is always in conflict with itself, and that's why it is life. To have lost what one loved most is perhaps the only real life..."
December 26, 2018
Another stunning work by Laxness, World Light is full of wry humour but also great emotion. Olaf is a wonderfully engaging character for whom you can't help but root despite his faults. As always, Laxness captures an amazing sense of place and creates beautifully original, well-rounded and memorable characters. This is a long-ish read, but it's well worth the time and effort.
September 29, 2008
William T. Vollman praised Halldor Laxness in an interview and inspired me to read World Light. I haven't enjoyed reading a book so much since reading Don Quixote almost 30 years ago. World Light is tender, tragic, sad, hilarious, humane.
August 29, 2012
I believe this is the best book I have ever read. What a joy to read, I reread many pages just for enjoyment, and laughed out loud a lot.
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