Literary Reykjavik

In February 2011, the Icelandic capital submitted its candidacy to become City of Literature. This seemed a natural step for the capital of a country which has the highest number of books published per head of population anywhere in the world.

Reykjavik hence looks set to join a select club of literary cities currently numbering just four: Edinburgh, Iowa City, Melbourne and Dublin. In March 2011, the Paris Book Fair celebrated Icelandic literature, alongside that of other Nordic countries, all of which share a love of detective stories. Icelandic authors Arnaldur Indriðason, Arni Thorarinsson and Jón Hallur Stefànsson have a loyal following in the genre. There were many other types of Icelandic literature on display in Paris. So rich is modern Icelandic literature that it is often said that, “half of Icelanders are writing for the other half.”

Transparency of language

When in Iceland, there are constant reminders of the long history of the country’s literature dating back to time of the medieval tales of heroes; Egill Skallagrimsson or Burnt Njal, still read by today’s schoolchildren in the language of that time. This illustrates that the Icelandic language - a source of Icelandic pride alongside the Althing and the country’s volcanoes - has remained virtually unchanged since these tales of heroism were first recounted. Icelanders display real ingenuity in adapting their language and are today able to express the most complex of technological terms. Vigdís Finnbógadóttir, the first woman to be democratically elected as leader of a European country in 1980, who is also a linguist said: “The Icelandic mind prefers – does not demand – that words should be transparent, meaning that it should be possible to deduce the core from the stem. One example is the Icelandic word for radio, ‘hljóðvarp’, which means ‘sound projected to the exterior’. ‘Sjónvarp’, the word for television, is formed in the same way, and literally means ‘projected vision’.”

The beauty of being inaccessible

A rising literary star: Auður Ava Ólafsdóttir. Her latest and third book, The Offspring, received unexpected but well-deserved rave reviews among French, English, Danish and German readers. The story is a simple one: On his way to restore a monastery garden on the continent, with two or three shoots of Rosa candida in his bags, Arnljótur – an anti-Viking – is about to meet, although he does not know it, Anna and her little girl in another Eden, forgotten by the world and guarded by a monk who is a film buff.

“As a writer,” the author explained to one critic, “I consider it a privilege to speak a language that very few understand. Due to this lack of accessibility to the world, Icelandic literature has a head start in terms of the mystical. I wanted to approach the illogical part of the human psyche in a musical manner, to elevate everyday concerns, even give them a religious dimension as in The Offspring.” It’s a captivating book.

The mind and the word

“It has been said of the Icelanders that they are not swayed by logic, scarcely by money and even less by arguments of faith, but resolve their problems by quibbling over words and by cultivating arguments over insignificant matters that have nothing to do with the problem at hand. But once you come to the heart of the debate you find them disoriented and silent. On the other hand, if a friend or relative asks them for something, they are ready to overcome the greatest difficulties for them, and if that were not the case the Icelandic countryside would have been deserted for centuries. There is another way of discussing things that is the last recourse of the Icelanders when all else has been tried, and that is humour, even the most trivial. As soon as someone tells an amusing story, society as a whole regains its enlightened kindliness and the soul becomes welcoming once again.”

These are the words of Halldór Laxness, the “giant” of Icelandic literature. Winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1955, his works include, Independent People. He began writing at 17 and lived until the age of 95. Icelandic writers of the 20th century often felt they were working in his shadow.

M.M.B.