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Ingrid Barrøy #1
Görülmeyenler
"Kimse bir adayı terk edemez..."
Norveç'in yaşayan en önemli yazarlarından Roy Jacobsen'den modern bir destan...
Görülmeyenler, ülkenin kuzeyindeki küçük bir adada denizin ve gökyüzünün güçleri arasına sıkışmış beş kişilik bir balıkçı ailesinin 1913'ten 1928'e uzanan etkileyici hikâyesini sunuyor okura; doğa da, Barrøy ailesine verdikleriyle ve aldıklarıyla, bir tür antikahraman olarak yerini alıyor romanda: Yaralı eller, ısırıcı soğuk, el emeğini bir anda paramparça eden fırtınalar ve hiç sözü edilmeyen duygular... Ödüllü yazar Jacobsen, içe işleyen yalın anlatımıyla belirsiz siluetleri görünür kılarken, okuru küçük şeyler'in kırılganlığına ve büyüklüğüne uyandırıyor.
Hans Barrøy üç şey düşlemişti; motorlu bir tekne, daha büyük bir ada ve başka bir yaşam. İlk iki düşünü sık sık anlatırdı tanıdığı tanımadığı herkese, sonuncusundan hiç söz etmemişti, kendine bile. Maria da üç şey düşlemişti: Daha çok çocuk, daha küçük bir ada ve başka bir yaşam. Kocasının tersine sık sık sonuncusunu düşünürdü ve ilk ikisi zamanla giderek silinip yittikçe üçüncü büyümüş, ağırlaşmıştı.
Norveç'in yaşayan en önemli yazarlarından Roy Jacobsen'den modern bir destan...
Görülmeyenler, ülkenin kuzeyindeki küçük bir adada denizin ve gökyüzünün güçleri arasına sıkışmış beş kişilik bir balıkçı ailesinin 1913'ten 1928'e uzanan etkileyici hikâyesini sunuyor okura; doğa da, Barrøy ailesine verdikleriyle ve aldıklarıyla, bir tür antikahraman olarak yerini alıyor romanda: Yaralı eller, ısırıcı soğuk, el emeğini bir anda paramparça eden fırtınalar ve hiç sözü edilmeyen duygular... Ödüllü yazar Jacobsen, içe işleyen yalın anlatımıyla belirsiz siluetleri görünür kılarken, okuru küçük şeyler'in kırılganlığına ve büyüklüğüne uyandırıyor.
Hans Barrøy üç şey düşlemişti; motorlu bir tekne, daha büyük bir ada ve başka bir yaşam. İlk iki düşünü sık sık anlatırdı tanıdığı tanımadığı herkese, sonuncusundan hiç söz etmemişti, kendine bile. Maria da üç şey düşlemişti: Daha çok çocuk, daha küçük bir ada ve başka bir yaşam. Kocasının tersine sık sık sonuncusunu düşünürdü ve ilk ikisi zamanla giderek silinip yittikçe üçüncü büyümüş, ağırlaşmıştı.
180 pages, Paperback
First published August 15, 2013
About the author
Roy Jacobsen
47 books360 followersRoy Jacobsen is a Norwegian novelist and short-story writer. Born in Oslo, he made his publishing début in 1982 with the short-story collection Fangeliv (Prison Life). He is winner of the prestigious Norwegian Critics Prize for Literature.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 1,102 reviews
January 14, 2025
2/6 from Booker International Prize Shortlist. 4.5*
My heart fills with love while I sit on my chair thinking how to review The Unseen. Its “quiet beauty” (a perfect description of this book read in Jill's review) enveloped me and concurred my soul without me even noticing.
It is almost impossible for me to explain why I loved this small novel so much, since at a first glance it contains some elements that I run away from: long descriptive passages and recount of life at sea. I will try, though, with some images, my humble words and with the help of the author’s, to introduce you to life on a small island in Norway.
The Unseen captures the day to day life of the Barrøy family on a small, one family island on the Norwegian coast, probably at the beginning of the 20th century. The novel starts with only 5 people living on the island: Hans, Maria – his wife, the daughter Ingrid, Martin - Hans’ father and Barbo- Hans’ sisters.
The island, “is a little under one kilometre from north to south, and half a kilometre from east to west, it has lots of crags and small grassy hollows and sells, deep coves cut into its coast and there are long rugged headlands and three white beaches. And even though on a normal day they can stand in the yard and keep an eye on the sheep, they are not so easy to spot when they are lying down in the long grass, the same goes for people, even an island has its secrets.”
Life is hard on the island and there is a permanent struggle to survive and to construct a more comfortable existence. Hans has to go to Lofoten each winter with a fishing boat from where he receives half of the catch proceeds. This represents a major part of the family’s income completed by the sale of fish caught around the island, of seagull eggs ( I had no idea they were edible) and milk from their livestock.
Winters are especially hard in such a remote place. The family is forced to battle the harsh forces of nature and most of the time they are at their mercy. “Winter begins with a storm. They call it the First Winter Storm. There have been earlier storms, in August and September, for example, bringing sudden and merciless changes to their lives.
The First Winter Storm, on the other hand, is quite a different matter. It is violent every single time and makes its entrance with a vengeance, they have never experienced anything like it, even though it happened last year. This is the origin of the phrase "in living memory", they have simply forgotten how it was, since they have no choice but to ride the storm, the hell on earth, as best they can, and erase it from their memories as soon as possible. “
The family seems to be bound to live on the island. "once you settle on an island, you never leave, an island holds on to what it has with all its might and main." Barbro and Ingrid tried, in turn, to leave to work as maids on the mainland but the island always called them back, sooner or later, by choice or by tragedy.
The Unseen has a slow moving plot but I did not feel it as a slow read. This would be my choice to win the MBI prize but, in the same time, I can see why it would not be a favorite. The book might be too quiet; there isn’t too much of a dramatic atmosphere even when tragedy strikes.
There is only one thing that made my reading experience less pleasurable. The English dialect invented for the translation of the dialogue between the islanders is a bit strange and forced. However, I understand that the author is very difficult to translate and a hard decision had to be made on how to deal with the Norwegian dialect. Excepting the dialogue, the translator made a wonderful job, his previous experience with Min Kamp and Jo Nesbo’s novels definitely helped.
Many thanks to Roy Jacobsen, Quercus Books, and Netgalley for this copy in exchange for an honest review.
My heart fills with love while I sit on my chair thinking how to review The Unseen. Its “quiet beauty” (a perfect description of this book read in Jill's review) enveloped me and concurred my soul without me even noticing.
It is almost impossible for me to explain why I loved this small novel so much, since at a first glance it contains some elements that I run away from: long descriptive passages and recount of life at sea. I will try, though, with some images, my humble words and with the help of the author’s, to introduce you to life on a small island in Norway.
The Unseen captures the day to day life of the Barrøy family on a small, one family island on the Norwegian coast, probably at the beginning of the 20th century. The novel starts with only 5 people living on the island: Hans, Maria – his wife, the daughter Ingrid, Martin - Hans’ father and Barbo- Hans’ sisters.
The island, “is a little under one kilometre from north to south, and half a kilometre from east to west, it has lots of crags and small grassy hollows and sells, deep coves cut into its coast and there are long rugged headlands and three white beaches. And even though on a normal day they can stand in the yard and keep an eye on the sheep, they are not so easy to spot when they are lying down in the long grass, the same goes for people, even an island has its secrets.”
Life is hard on the island and there is a permanent struggle to survive and to construct a more comfortable existence. Hans has to go to Lofoten each winter with a fishing boat from where he receives half of the catch proceeds. This represents a major part of the family’s income completed by the sale of fish caught around the island, of seagull eggs ( I had no idea they were edible) and milk from their livestock.
Winters are especially hard in such a remote place. The family is forced to battle the harsh forces of nature and most of the time they are at their mercy. “Winter begins with a storm. They call it the First Winter Storm. There have been earlier storms, in August and September, for example, bringing sudden and merciless changes to their lives.
The First Winter Storm, on the other hand, is quite a different matter. It is violent every single time and makes its entrance with a vengeance, they have never experienced anything like it, even though it happened last year. This is the origin of the phrase "in living memory", they have simply forgotten how it was, since they have no choice but to ride the storm, the hell on earth, as best they can, and erase it from their memories as soon as possible. “
The family seems to be bound to live on the island. "once you settle on an island, you never leave, an island holds on to what it has with all its might and main." Barbro and Ingrid tried, in turn, to leave to work as maids on the mainland but the island always called them back, sooner or later, by choice or by tragedy.
The Unseen has a slow moving plot but I did not feel it as a slow read. This would be my choice to win the MBI prize but, in the same time, I can see why it would not be a favorite. The book might be too quiet; there isn’t too much of a dramatic atmosphere even when tragedy strikes.
There is only one thing that made my reading experience less pleasurable. The English dialect invented for the translation of the dialogue between the islanders is a bit strange and forced. However, I understand that the author is very difficult to translate and a hard decision had to be made on how to deal with the Norwegian dialect. Excepting the dialogue, the translator made a wonderful job, his previous experience with Min Kamp and Jo Nesbo’s novels definitely helped.
Many thanks to Roy Jacobsen, Quercus Books, and Netgalley for this copy in exchange for an honest review.
March 21, 2018
Beginning of the twentieth century. Three generations of a family try to survive in an isolated and arid island called Barroy, in front of the Norwegian coast.
Barroy is like a universe for its inhabitants, life can’t be understood outside the confinement of this speck of rock dust amidst the ocean, but at the same time, life is continuously threatened by the hostile climate, the endless periods of darkness, severe snow blizzards and the unruly sea that provides sustenance but also kills mercilessly when one least expects it.
Barroy is like a microcosm with such a fragile balance that extinction is lurking around the corner incessantly, and miracles are performed daily when the sun goes down with no other death than the vanishing light.
Straddling the naturalist genre and the family saga, “The Unseen” is a realistic account but also a lyrical chant of devastating beauty where time is the only element that fragments the rhythmical hues of the prose, achieving Shakespearean tonalities when all kind of inclement weather is described.
Beyond the coast line, seasons roll on implacably without any trace of the bucolic ideal, and the Barroy family endures the years with stoicism and laconic humor that combine a unique blend of resignation and wisdom. Individual identities get diffused in the collective entity of the island, of which they are masters and slaves at once.
Jacobsen paints a timeless portrait of a bygone era, of a working class that vanished in the last century, the kind of people that founded the actual pillars of Norway. His style is as delicate as it is brutal, bared and clean, drenched with contemplative passages of landscape architecture that address existential ponderings such as the inexorable ties between land and identity, destiny and freedom, tradition and evolution. And the eternity of silence. The weight of thoughts never expressed out loud. The burden of being disappointed by one’s dreams.
In one of the last chapters, Ingrid, the main protagonist of this tale of woe and glory, muses on the sounds of the island. Rushing winds, seagulls calling while soaring the damp skies, the roaring of the waves and murmurs of the cliffs, make silence a rarity in her world. But once in a while, on a very special occasion, all the elements seem to hold their breath at once, and the land listens in a void of expectation, hearing its own pulse. And everything turns into horizon, and one can touch eternity and know that she is where she is supposed to be. Determinant, but nameless. Safe, but unseen.
Barroy is like a universe for its inhabitants, life can’t be understood outside the confinement of this speck of rock dust amidst the ocean, but at the same time, life is continuously threatened by the hostile climate, the endless periods of darkness, severe snow blizzards and the unruly sea that provides sustenance but also kills mercilessly when one least expects it.
Barroy is like a microcosm with such a fragile balance that extinction is lurking around the corner incessantly, and miracles are performed daily when the sun goes down with no other death than the vanishing light.
Straddling the naturalist genre and the family saga, “The Unseen” is a realistic account but also a lyrical chant of devastating beauty where time is the only element that fragments the rhythmical hues of the prose, achieving Shakespearean tonalities when all kind of inclement weather is described.
Beyond the coast line, seasons roll on implacably without any trace of the bucolic ideal, and the Barroy family endures the years with stoicism and laconic humor that combine a unique blend of resignation and wisdom. Individual identities get diffused in the collective entity of the island, of which they are masters and slaves at once.
Jacobsen paints a timeless portrait of a bygone era, of a working class that vanished in the last century, the kind of people that founded the actual pillars of Norway. His style is as delicate as it is brutal, bared and clean, drenched with contemplative passages of landscape architecture that address existential ponderings such as the inexorable ties between land and identity, destiny and freedom, tradition and evolution. And the eternity of silence. The weight of thoughts never expressed out loud. The burden of being disappointed by one’s dreams.
In one of the last chapters, Ingrid, the main protagonist of this tale of woe and glory, muses on the sounds of the island. Rushing winds, seagulls calling while soaring the damp skies, the roaring of the waves and murmurs of the cliffs, make silence a rarity in her world. But once in a while, on a very special occasion, all the elements seem to hold their breath at once, and the land listens in a void of expectation, hearing its own pulse. And everything turns into horizon, and one can touch eternity and know that she is where she is supposed to be. Determinant, but nameless. Safe, but unseen.
November 4, 2020
Het jaar 2020 wordt niet bepaald een pronkstuk op je buffetkast, met een spotlichtje erop. Ik denk dat veel mensen geneigd zijn om het jaar in een paar woorden samen te vatten en in een doos te stoppen. Misschien plakken ze er nog de naam van een man of een virus op, maar evengoed gaat het daarna richting containerpark.
Om mezelf gelukkig te houden herinner ik me om de pakweg twee dagen aan het feit dat het jaar ook veel goeds oplevert. Hernieuwde inzichten, zoals: ken jezelf. Het belang van een goede partner. Of: de macht van de stilte. De constatering dat de natuur al snel weer de overhand neemt, als wij verdwijnen.
Ik heb ook echt weer beseft hoe belangrijk het is dat ‘bezigheden’ niet voldoen. In een mensenleven blijft entertainment een tijdje leuk, bijvoorbeeld als je na een zware dag alleen nog in staat bent om afgepeigerd op de bank te liggen en naar bewegend beeld op de televisie te kijken.
Dat liggen hou je geen maanden vol. Heel veel mensen vinden het vervelend als je om meer dan dat vraagt, want dan doe je ineens moeilijk over de zin van het bestaan. Ik weet ondertussen zeker dat ik meer nodig heb dan gewoon maar ‘bestaan’. Ik heb het al eens in een gedicht gezegd. (Het gaat om ‘er zijn’.)
Ik hoop dat je dit jaar nog ‘De onzichtbaren’ van Roy Jacobsen leest. De tip gaf ik afgelopen zondag al in zestien seconden mee in ‘De Zevende Dag’ op de televisie. Bijna niemand had de tijd om de titel te noteren.
We maken een periode door waarin we gedwongen worden om een eiland te zijn. Daarom juist lijkt deze roman me een goed boek voor ons allemaal. Antwoord maar eens op lastige vragen. Hoe zelfredzaam ben je? Of andersom: hoe afhankelijk? Jacobsen beschrijft een familie (je denkt aan samenhorigheid, per definitie) op een klein eiland, vlakbij een groter eiland, vlakbij het Noorse vasteland.
Ook als 2020 niet voorbestemd zou zijn voor het containerpark, zou ik het je aanraden. Wat een beelden roept dit boek op, wat een magie tussen de regels.
‘De onzichtbaren’ is uit het Noors vertaald door Paula Stevens.
Om mezelf gelukkig te houden herinner ik me om de pakweg twee dagen aan het feit dat het jaar ook veel goeds oplevert. Hernieuwde inzichten, zoals: ken jezelf. Het belang van een goede partner. Of: de macht van de stilte. De constatering dat de natuur al snel weer de overhand neemt, als wij verdwijnen.
Ik heb ook echt weer beseft hoe belangrijk het is dat ‘bezigheden’ niet voldoen. In een mensenleven blijft entertainment een tijdje leuk, bijvoorbeeld als je na een zware dag alleen nog in staat bent om afgepeigerd op de bank te liggen en naar bewegend beeld op de televisie te kijken.
Dat liggen hou je geen maanden vol. Heel veel mensen vinden het vervelend als je om meer dan dat vraagt, want dan doe je ineens moeilijk over de zin van het bestaan. Ik weet ondertussen zeker dat ik meer nodig heb dan gewoon maar ‘bestaan’. Ik heb het al eens in een gedicht gezegd. (Het gaat om ‘er zijn’.)
Ik hoop dat je dit jaar nog ‘De onzichtbaren’ van Roy Jacobsen leest. De tip gaf ik afgelopen zondag al in zestien seconden mee in ‘De Zevende Dag’ op de televisie. Bijna niemand had de tijd om de titel te noteren.
We maken een periode door waarin we gedwongen worden om een eiland te zijn. Daarom juist lijkt deze roman me een goed boek voor ons allemaal. Antwoord maar eens op lastige vragen. Hoe zelfredzaam ben je? Of andersom: hoe afhankelijk? Jacobsen beschrijft een familie (je denkt aan samenhorigheid, per definitie) op een klein eiland, vlakbij een groter eiland, vlakbij het Noorse vasteland.
Ook als 2020 niet voorbestemd zou zijn voor het containerpark, zou ik het je aanraden. Wat een beelden roept dit boek op, wat een magie tussen de regels.
‘De onzichtbaren’ is uit het Noors vertaald door Paula Stevens.
October 27, 2024
It’s a slow and strangely mesmerizing story of a family living on a tiny island off a Norwegian coast in the early 20th century, an island life of isolation and poverty, with harsh sea bringing severe storms, where hard work means scraping survival from summer to winter and to summer again, and yet life here is not devoid of beauty and love and wonder.
It’s a quiet and calm book, laconically told, with intentional lack of drama or high emotions. The islanders are pragmatic and stoic and tough by necessity. Three generations of them make a living by fishing and farming and gathering eiderdown and eggs, stoically although not entirely without some resentment and dreams of something that can be better. The islanders venture into the outside world - because no man is an island, and greater life beyond drags you into it, but in the end they all come back, for better or for worse. It’s their kingdom and their prison all at the same time.
It should be somberly bleak and depressing, and yet it isn’t. But it doesn’t swerve into bright-eyed childlike wonder despite a lot of the book filtered through the eyes of Ingrid Barrøy who grows from a small child into a young woman over pages of this short novel, seeing her family shrink and grow again. The island itself keeps the feeling of serene solemnity, a harsh and dangerous place yet so starkly beautiful.
4 stars.
“Islanders need to be more patient than everyone else.”
“Once you settle on an island, you never leave, an island holds on to what it has with all its might and main.”
It’s a quiet and calm book, laconically told, with intentional lack of drama or high emotions. The islanders are pragmatic and stoic and tough by necessity. Three generations of them make a living by fishing and farming and gathering eiderdown and eggs, stoically although not entirely without some resentment and dreams of something that can be better. The islanders venture into the outside world - because no man is an island, and greater life beyond drags you into it, but in the end they all come back, for better or for worse. It’s their kingdom and their prison all at the same time.
“Islanders are never afraid, if they were they wouldn’t be able to live here, they would have to pack their goods and chattels and move and be like everyone else in the forests and valleys, it would be a catastrophe, islanders have a dark disposition, they are beset not with fear but solemnity.“
It should be somberly bleak and depressing, and yet it isn’t. But it doesn’t swerve into bright-eyed childlike wonder despite a lot of the book filtered through the eyes of Ingrid Barrøy who grows from a small child into a young woman over pages of this short novel, seeing her family shrink and grow again. The island itself keeps the feeling of serene solemnity, a harsh and dangerous place yet so starkly beautiful.
“She doesn’t like these storms, the creaking of the house and the trumpet blasts from the chimney, the whole universe in turmoil, the wind that tears the breath out of her lungs when she goes to the barn with her mother, that drives the moisture from her eyes and sweeps her into walls and bowed trees, and forces the entire family to camp down in the kitchen and sitting room, and even there they don’t get a wink of sleep.”
4 stars.
Read
September 9, 2024Towards the end of this novel, set on a tiny island off the north-western coast of Norway during the 1910s and 20s, a person from the mainland mentions the terrible poverty of the islanders.
That remark came as a shock to me. I was aware of how hard their lives were as they struggled to gather food from their rocky outcrop and from the stormy sea, but I never thought of them as poor. In fact I thought they were rich in so many ways—but especially in terms of freedom. Their clock is the sun, their calendar the seasons and the weather that rolls in with them. Their commitments are only to themselves.
And since the inhabitants are all members of one extended family, they have no neighbors to disturb them. The laws of the mainland don't impinge on them nor does the Church—the pastor from the parish across the water doesn't like spending two hours in a row-boat to get to those few members of his congregation so he rarely visits. The island is like an independent nation, the commonwealth of Barrøy.
And Ingrid, aged five at the beginning of the book, is the undisputed queen of the land and the seas around it.
Ingrid is a very fine character and I can see why author Roy Jacobson felt the urge to write three further Barrøy books, set on and off the island, because he clearly had huge affection for this feisty figure he'd created. And it's also clear that he knows what life on similar islands was like between the wars (in fact his mother came from just such a place) so this book is very satisfying from the point of view of authenticity.
It's also satisfying from the point of view of plot, unlikely as that may sound. Not much could happen out there on a tiny remote island, you might suppose. But every season has its own story and every year its own chronicle. Some of the islanders need to spend time away periodically—school for Ingrid, short periods of seasonal work on the trawlers in Lofoten for her father, a hospital stay for her mother, a brief mainland employment for her aunt, and eventually one for Ingrid herself—but they all return to their beloved island, to the wind-battered house they call home, to the strips of garden and meadow they've reclaimed from the rocks, to the favorite foods they know how to find in the shelves and secret drawers of the island’s larder.
Yes, they are richer than outsiders might think. Rich from the land, rich from the sea, though it's hard work salting and drying the quantities of cod and herring the sea washes into their strategically placed nets.
The sea washes other things in too, and while some of those things can be useful, others threaten the islanders' peace and freedom—but not for long. These people are strong and brave and incredibly resourceful. They are the definition of 'undaunted'. Nothing, neither wind nor rain, neither snow nor ice, gets the better of them, so an escaped criminal on a stolen boat is dealt with the way they deal with everything: efficiently.
During the course of the book the population of the island decreases by two but grows by three—in unexpected and interesting ways. There is a sense that the book can be seen as a social history of such island communities but Roy Jacobson is primarily a novelist, and he converts this social history into fiction so well that I downloaded the other three books in the Barrøy series as soon as I turned the last pages of this one—pages which contained a neat encapsulation of the title The Unseen, a meaning that had escaped me until then.
I'm happy to add the Barrøy books to my shelf of stories and memoirs about island communities.
And did I mention there were sheep in this book? No wonder I loved it!
That remark came as a shock to me. I was aware of how hard their lives were as they struggled to gather food from their rocky outcrop and from the stormy sea, but I never thought of them as poor. In fact I thought they were rich in so many ways—but especially in terms of freedom. Their clock is the sun, their calendar the seasons and the weather that rolls in with them. Their commitments are only to themselves.
And since the inhabitants are all members of one extended family, they have no neighbors to disturb them. The laws of the mainland don't impinge on them nor does the Church—the pastor from the parish across the water doesn't like spending two hours in a row-boat to get to those few members of his congregation so he rarely visits. The island is like an independent nation, the commonwealth of Barrøy.
And Ingrid, aged five at the beginning of the book, is the undisputed queen of the land and the seas around it.
Ingrid is a very fine character and I can see why author Roy Jacobson felt the urge to write three further Barrøy books, set on and off the island, because he clearly had huge affection for this feisty figure he'd created. And it's also clear that he knows what life on similar islands was like between the wars (in fact his mother came from just such a place) so this book is very satisfying from the point of view of authenticity.
It's also satisfying from the point of view of plot, unlikely as that may sound. Not much could happen out there on a tiny remote island, you might suppose. But every season has its own story and every year its own chronicle. Some of the islanders need to spend time away periodically—school for Ingrid, short periods of seasonal work on the trawlers in Lofoten for her father, a hospital stay for her mother, a brief mainland employment for her aunt, and eventually one for Ingrid herself—but they all return to their beloved island, to the wind-battered house they call home, to the strips of garden and meadow they've reclaimed from the rocks, to the favorite foods they know how to find in the shelves and secret drawers of the island’s larder.
Yes, they are richer than outsiders might think. Rich from the land, rich from the sea, though it's hard work salting and drying the quantities of cod and herring the sea washes into their strategically placed nets.
The sea washes other things in too, and while some of those things can be useful, others threaten the islanders' peace and freedom—but not for long. These people are strong and brave and incredibly resourceful. They are the definition of 'undaunted'. Nothing, neither wind nor rain, neither snow nor ice, gets the better of them, so an escaped criminal on a stolen boat is dealt with the way they deal with everything: efficiently.
During the course of the book the population of the island decreases by two but grows by three—in unexpected and interesting ways. There is a sense that the book can be seen as a social history of such island communities but Roy Jacobson is primarily a novelist, and he converts this social history into fiction so well that I downloaded the other three books in the Barrøy series as soon as I turned the last pages of this one—pages which contained a neat encapsulation of the title The Unseen, a meaning that had escaped me until then.
I'm happy to add the Barrøy books to my shelf of stories and memoirs about island communities.
And did I mention there were sheep in this book? No wonder I loved it!
October 19, 2024
Gloomy historical drama.
This is the first part of a trilogy about the hard life of Norwegian fishermen of the last century. The novel is about a family living on a small, isolated island. Their life is full of hard work and struggle with the harsh nature - from deadly frosts and droughts to powerful storms. Despite this, their quiet, isolated life can be called relatively happy. They fish, take care of livestock, travel to the larger islands for church, school and shopping, and pick up trash thrown onto the island by the merciless sea.
Usually, choosing a book to read in Norwegian can be difficult because of a complicated language situation in this country - hundreds of different dialects are spoken here, and some are very different from the literary language. Fortunately, the author used the literary language, embellishing only rare characters' lines with dialect.
Most of the story is a description of the life of the islanders and the cruel but impressive nature. Since the novel takes place at the beginning of the last century on the Lofoten Islands, it is interesting and informative to read all the details of the life of the farmers-fishermen of that time. The description of the strange chairs-related custom was especially striking. It turns out that in those days it was a luxury to have your own chair, and most family members ate standing up. Women got "their own chair" after a boy was born, while children might not get theirs at all.
In general, it's a slow-paced coming-of-age story with lots of interesting historical details and descriptions of nature.
This is the first part of a trilogy about the hard life of Norwegian fishermen of the last century. The novel is about a family living on a small, isolated island. Their life is full of hard work and struggle with the harsh nature - from deadly frosts and droughts to powerful storms. Despite this, their quiet, isolated life can be called relatively happy. They fish, take care of livestock, travel to the larger islands for church, school and shopping, and pick up trash thrown onto the island by the merciless sea.
Usually, choosing a book to read in Norwegian can be difficult because of a complicated language situation in this country - hundreds of different dialects are spoken here, and some are very different from the literary language. Fortunately, the author used the literary language, embellishing only rare characters' lines with dialect.
Most of the story is a description of the life of the islanders and the cruel but impressive nature. Since the novel takes place at the beginning of the last century on the Lofoten Islands, it is interesting and informative to read all the details of the life of the farmers-fishermen of that time. The description of the strange chairs-related custom was especially striking. It turns out that in those days it was a luxury to have your own chair, and most family members ate standing up. Women got "their own chair" after a boy was born, while children might not get theirs at all.
In general, it's a slow-paced coming-of-age story with lots of interesting historical details and descriptions of nature.
January 1, 2025
"once you settle on an island, you never leave, an island holds on to what it has with all its might and main"
Roy Jacobsen's novel The Unseen is one of those quiet, contemplative stories that I am drawn to. The Barrøy family lives on a small island off the coast of mainland Norway. While WWI and the Great Depression play quietly in the background, they have minimal impact on life on the mostly self-sufficient islands.
Life is constant toil, wringing a living from the fields and the sea. Every family member, no matter how young, works to contribute to their survival. Hans leaves the islands annually to earn cash to pay for the items the island can not provide--lumber, fabric, coffee, flour, and sugar. They also sell valuable eiderdown, fish, and eggs to supplement. While life is hard, there are moments of joy, beauty, and ease; and there is deep abiding love in this family. Island life is in the blood of its residents, and those who leave manage to make their way back. These are a strong, stoic, independent people who choose how they live.
Jacobsen draws complex and nuanced characters who I come to care for. His prose is clean and spare, fitting to the island and its people, and is brilliantly translated by Barlett and Shaw.
The change and continuity of one family living their small dramas, season by season, in tune with nature's cycles is skillfully portrayed.
I am delighted to know this is the first of four books about this family and their island.
12/31/24 This one is lingering delightfully with me and I am bumping up my rating from 4 to 5 Stars.
Publication 2013
Roy Jacobsen's novel The Unseen is one of those quiet, contemplative stories that I am drawn to. The Barrøy family lives on a small island off the coast of mainland Norway. While WWI and the Great Depression play quietly in the background, they have minimal impact on life on the mostly self-sufficient islands.
Life is constant toil, wringing a living from the fields and the sea. Every family member, no matter how young, works to contribute to their survival. Hans leaves the islands annually to earn cash to pay for the items the island can not provide--lumber, fabric, coffee, flour, and sugar. They also sell valuable eiderdown, fish, and eggs to supplement. While life is hard, there are moments of joy, beauty, and ease; and there is deep abiding love in this family. Island life is in the blood of its residents, and those who leave manage to make their way back. These are a strong, stoic, independent people who choose how they live.
Jacobsen draws complex and nuanced characters who I come to care for. His prose is clean and spare, fitting to the island and its people, and is brilliantly translated by Barlett and Shaw.
The change and continuity of one family living their small dramas, season by season, in tune with nature's cycles is skillfully portrayed.
I am delighted to know this is the first of four books about this family and their island.
12/31/24 This one is lingering delightfully with me and I am bumping up my rating from 4 to 5 Stars.
Publication 2013
June 21, 2017
"Islanders are never afraid, if they were they wouldn’t be able to live here..."
This captivating tale is set on the tiny island of Barrøy off the coast of Norway, around the beginning of the 20th century. It is inhabited by one family: Hans, his wife Maria, father Martin, sister Barbro and his young daughter Ingrid. The story tracks the adventures of this clan through the years, as they struggle to make a living from their small provisions by way of fishing and farming. There are unexpected births and deaths along the way, and we follow Ingrid's journey from little girl to eventual Queen of the island.
What struck me about the plight of the Barrøys is how the island shapes their whole existence. It is their livelihood but it's also a kind of prison. Life unfurls at a different pace to that of the mainland. The family exist at the mercy of the weather - glorious summers are always welcome but they also have to contend with the howling gales and tempestuous seas of winter:
Even though Barrøy marches to the beat of its own drum, there is also pressure on the family to adapt if they want a better life for themselves. Hans is an ambitious man but he is also a bit of a dreamer. He has big plans to build a boatshed and a quay, and to add an extension to the house. Some of these ideas come to fruition, others fail. External change also threatens to upset the delicate balance of the island, with important decisions to be made about joining a milk route and the construction of a lighthouse beacon. The outside world is developing at a rapid pace and Barrøy cannot afford to be left too far behind.
The Unseen reminded me a little of A Whole Life, another wise European novel about man's relationship to a landscape. Like the main character of that book, the Barrøys face up to all kinds of emotional and financial hardship with fortitude. The are no major pyrotechnics in the plot: just one family doing the best they can. The prose is clear and sparse - very matter-of-fact, just like the Barrøys themselves. But it is also sprinkled with moments of sheer beauty, like a frozen sea that serves as the perfect ice rink or the moment Ingrid catches her reflection in a mirror for the first time. It is a compelling and convincing portrait of a lost age, a profound and moving story.
This captivating tale is set on the tiny island of Barrøy off the coast of Norway, around the beginning of the 20th century. It is inhabited by one family: Hans, his wife Maria, father Martin, sister Barbro and his young daughter Ingrid. The story tracks the adventures of this clan through the years, as they struggle to make a living from their small provisions by way of fishing and farming. There are unexpected births and deaths along the way, and we follow Ingrid's journey from little girl to eventual Queen of the island.
What struck me about the plight of the Barrøys is how the island shapes their whole existence. It is their livelihood but it's also a kind of prison. Life unfurls at a different pace to that of the mainland. The family exist at the mercy of the weather - glorious summers are always welcome but they also have to contend with the howling gales and tempestuous seas of winter:
"She doesn’t like these storms, the creaking of the house and the trumpet blasts from the chimney, the whole universe in turmoil, the wind that tears the breath out of her lungs when she goes to the barn with her mother, that drives the moisture from her eyes and sweeps her into walls and bowed trees, and forces the entire family to camp down in the kitchen and sitting room, and even there they don’t get a wink of sleep."
Even though Barrøy marches to the beat of its own drum, there is also pressure on the family to adapt if they want a better life for themselves. Hans is an ambitious man but he is also a bit of a dreamer. He has big plans to build a boatshed and a quay, and to add an extension to the house. Some of these ideas come to fruition, others fail. External change also threatens to upset the delicate balance of the island, with important decisions to be made about joining a milk route and the construction of a lighthouse beacon. The outside world is developing at a rapid pace and Barrøy cannot afford to be left too far behind.
The Unseen reminded me a little of A Whole Life, another wise European novel about man's relationship to a landscape. Like the main character of that book, the Barrøys face up to all kinds of emotional and financial hardship with fortitude. The are no major pyrotechnics in the plot: just one family doing the best they can. The prose is clear and sparse - very matter-of-fact, just like the Barrøys themselves. But it is also sprinkled with moments of sheer beauty, like a frozen sea that serves as the perfect ice rink or the moment Ingrid catches her reflection in a mirror for the first time. It is a compelling and convincing portrait of a lost age, a profound and moving story.
July 23, 2021
Een mooi en bijzonder verhaal over het ruige leven op een heel klein eiland in Noorwegen.
A beautiful and special story about the rough life on a small island in Norway.
A beautiful and special story about the rough life on a small island in Norway.
July 30, 2019
Nasıl bir hazla okudum tarif edemem. Ada romanları içinde ve Norveç edebiyatında benim için en iyilerinden biri oldu bu roman.
Doğanın heybeti karşısında hiçe dönüşen insan hikayeleri okumayı çok seviyorum ve adalar, insanlarına o heybet karşısında saygılı bir kabulü öğreterek büyütüyor. Çünkü istediğin an ayrılabileceğin bir yer değil ada, hem fiziken hem ruhen.
Kuzey kutup dairesine yakın ufacık bir adada yaşayan beş kişilik bir ailenin günlük/senelik ada rutinlerini yıllara yayılan bir zamanda anlatan bir roman Görülmeyenler. Altıncı karakter, aslında birinci karakter Doğa’nın bizzat kendisi. Doğa o kadar baş karakter ki misal İlk Kış Fırtınası baş harfler büyük bir şekilde yazılmış. Çünkü O, tıpkı Hans gibi, Maria gibi cisimleşmiş bir karakter. Geldiğinde adada olacaklar sadece onun insafına kalmış. İnsanların, alabilecekleri tüm önlemleri aldıktan sonra başlarına geleni beklemekten başka çareleri yok.
Aksiyon isteyenler bulaşmasın derim. Çünkü gerçekten doğa olaylarının ve tüm yaşam döngülerini doğadan çıkarmaya çalışan insanların hikayesi bu. Ama öyle düşündüren metaforlar ve varoluşumuza dair öyle tespitler var ki durdum, yeniden okudum, not aldım, düşündüm, topyekün bir edebiyat keyfi yaşadım.
Birini özellikle belirtmek isterim. Bölümlerden biri şöyle başlıyor: “Hans’ın bir dürbünü var; dürbünün özelliği bir yerlerde durmasına karşın asla kullanılmaması. Hatta nerden geldiğini bile anımsamıyor”.
Sonra bir gün yıllardır durduğu yerde farkediyor dürbünü ve hayretle alıp uzaklara bakmaya başlıyor. Başka yakın adalardaki evlere, kooperatife, uzak denizlere... Karısı, babası, kızı, kız kardeşi de... Hepsi teker teker alıp bakıyorlar dürbünle. Ingrid yani ufak kızları hariç herkes baktıktan sonra yüzünü buruşturuyor, bir huzursuzluk kaplıyor ruh hallerini. Bir tek Ingrid neşeleniyor, kikirdiyor. Ve bölüm şöyle bitiyor: “bir gözün görebildiğinden daha ötesini görmemesinin bir nedeni olması gerektiğini düşünüyor Hans. Bunun hem göze hem de gördüğü şeye bir yararı olmalı; şimdi en azından düşünmek istemediği şeyi, parayı, karayla aralarındaki en sıkıcı bağlantıyı unutmuş.”
Ingrid hariç hepsinin, artık sahip olamayacakları farklı bir hayatı, kendi adalarında olmayan imkanları gösteren şey dürbün. Bir tek 7 yaşındaki Ingrid gördüklerinden heyecan duyabiliyor çünkü önünde kocaman bir hayat var. O dürbüne verdikleri tepkiler öyle çok şey anlatıyordu ki!
Bütün bunlar kendi zamanlarımıza dair de birşeyler düşündürdü bana. Bizim dürbünlerimiz de elimizdeki akıllı telefonlar. Her gün bu telefonlardan başka başka hayatları gözledikçe kendi hayatlarımıza dair memnuniyetsizliğimiz artıyor. Hem o dürbünü bırakamıyoruz elimizden hem de sahip olamayacaklarımız üzerinden hırçınlaşıyoruz. “Kara ile tek ilişkimiz” olan paranın esiri oluyoruz.
Eğitim sisteminin çocukları nasıl tek tipleştirip renklerini söndürdüğünden, kadın erkek ilişkilerine bir sürü farklı tespit ve anlatıdan bahsedebilirim ama sayfalarca not aldım, yazmakla bitmez.
Bu tarz romanlar arasında en son Mişima’nın Dalgaların Sesi’nde (yine bir ada hikayesi) bu kadar keyif almıştım. Mişima’nın belki en sönük romanlarından biri bir sürü insan için ama ben orda da süngerci kadınların, deniz fenerindeki karı kocaya her gün balık taşıyan balıkçının, denizin yoğurduğu insanların rutinlerini okurken bir dolu şey düşünmüştüm.
Heyecanla devam romanının bana ulaşacağı günü bekliyorum.
Doğanın heybeti karşısında hiçe dönüşen insan hikayeleri okumayı çok seviyorum ve adalar, insanlarına o heybet karşısında saygılı bir kabulü öğreterek büyütüyor. Çünkü istediğin an ayrılabileceğin bir yer değil ada, hem fiziken hem ruhen.
Kuzey kutup dairesine yakın ufacık bir adada yaşayan beş kişilik bir ailenin günlük/senelik ada rutinlerini yıllara yayılan bir zamanda anlatan bir roman Görülmeyenler. Altıncı karakter, aslında birinci karakter Doğa’nın bizzat kendisi. Doğa o kadar baş karakter ki misal İlk Kış Fırtınası baş harfler büyük bir şekilde yazılmış. Çünkü O, tıpkı Hans gibi, Maria gibi cisimleşmiş bir karakter. Geldiğinde adada olacaklar sadece onun insafına kalmış. İnsanların, alabilecekleri tüm önlemleri aldıktan sonra başlarına geleni beklemekten başka çareleri yok.
Aksiyon isteyenler bulaşmasın derim. Çünkü gerçekten doğa olaylarının ve tüm yaşam döngülerini doğadan çıkarmaya çalışan insanların hikayesi bu. Ama öyle düşündüren metaforlar ve varoluşumuza dair öyle tespitler var ki durdum, yeniden okudum, not aldım, düşündüm, topyekün bir edebiyat keyfi yaşadım.
Birini özellikle belirtmek isterim. Bölümlerden biri şöyle başlıyor: “Hans’ın bir dürbünü var; dürbünün özelliği bir yerlerde durmasına karşın asla kullanılmaması. Hatta nerden geldiğini bile anımsamıyor”.
Sonra bir gün yıllardır durduğu yerde farkediyor dürbünü ve hayretle alıp uzaklara bakmaya başlıyor. Başka yakın adalardaki evlere, kooperatife, uzak denizlere... Karısı, babası, kızı, kız kardeşi de... Hepsi teker teker alıp bakıyorlar dürbünle. Ingrid yani ufak kızları hariç herkes baktıktan sonra yüzünü buruşturuyor, bir huzursuzluk kaplıyor ruh hallerini. Bir tek Ingrid neşeleniyor, kikirdiyor. Ve bölüm şöyle bitiyor: “bir gözün görebildiğinden daha ötesini görmemesinin bir nedeni olması gerektiğini düşünüyor Hans. Bunun hem göze hem de gördüğü şeye bir yararı olmalı; şimdi en azından düşünmek istemediği şeyi, parayı, karayla aralarındaki en sıkıcı bağlantıyı unutmuş.”
Ingrid hariç hepsinin, artık sahip olamayacakları farklı bir hayatı, kendi adalarında olmayan imkanları gösteren şey dürbün. Bir tek 7 yaşındaki Ingrid gördüklerinden heyecan duyabiliyor çünkü önünde kocaman bir hayat var. O dürbüne verdikleri tepkiler öyle çok şey anlatıyordu ki!
Bütün bunlar kendi zamanlarımıza dair de birşeyler düşündürdü bana. Bizim dürbünlerimiz de elimizdeki akıllı telefonlar. Her gün bu telefonlardan başka başka hayatları gözledikçe kendi hayatlarımıza dair memnuniyetsizliğimiz artıyor. Hem o dürbünü bırakamıyoruz elimizden hem de sahip olamayacaklarımız üzerinden hırçınlaşıyoruz. “Kara ile tek ilişkimiz” olan paranın esiri oluyoruz.
Eğitim sisteminin çocukları nasıl tek tipleştirip renklerini söndürdüğünden, kadın erkek ilişkilerine bir sürü farklı tespit ve anlatıdan bahsedebilirim ama sayfalarca not aldım, yazmakla bitmez.
Bu tarz romanlar arasında en son Mişima’nın Dalgaların Sesi’nde (yine bir ada hikayesi) bu kadar keyif almıştım. Mişima’nın belki en sönük romanlarından biri bir sürü insan için ama ben orda da süngerci kadınların, deniz fenerindeki karı kocaya her gün balık taşıyan balıkçının, denizin yoğurduğu insanların rutinlerini okurken bir dolu şey düşünmüştüm.
Heyecanla devam romanının bana ulaşacağı günü bekliyorum.
July 23, 2019
Uzakta, yeterince yakınına gelindiğinde bile görülmeyen bir ada. Ve adada yaşayan balıkçı bir ailenin rutinleri. Güneşin doğmasıyla bir önceki günün aynını yaşamak için uyanan insanlar. Kahramanlarımız, Hans Barrøy ve ailesi
metropol insanlarından farklı gözüküyor ama ben çok benzerlik yakaladım, yakaladıkça da kendimle yüzleştim. Nerede yaşarsak yaşayalım hayat insanı o hem korunaklı hem de boğan rutinin zeminine yerleştiriveriyor. Haftalar, günler ve hatta çoğu zaman mevsimler, bir öncekinin aynı hep. Issız bir adada olmaktan başkasına inandırabilmemiz için kendimizi, icat ettiğimiz oyunlar, uğraşlar...
Bir adada yaşamak, o adanın bireyleri olarak, geri kalan dünyadan dışlanmışlığın farkında olmadan yaşamaya devam etmek, nasıl güzel verilmiş anlatamam. Onlar içinde bulundukları ruhsal durumu anlamlandırmaya çalışmadılar ama ben o dışlanmışlık hissiyle cebelleştim durdum kitap boyunca.
Kısacık bir roman Görülmeyenler. Soğuk çetin bir iklimin coğrafyasını anlatıyor. Buna rağmen hiç yabancılık çekmiyorsunuz. Adalı olmak, ada psikolojisi adına (ki benim küçüklüğümden beri çok ilgimi çeken bir konudur kendisi) muazzam bir cevher barındırıyor içinde belgesel tadında. Bu manada bana göre Görülmeyenler tam bir “atmosfer kitabı”. Ders niteliğinde okutulabilir atmosfer yaratmak açısından.
Bir tek, bir tek “ah keşke” dediğim bir yan var kitap hakkında; Edebi anlamda, anlatımın çok önde gittiği her bölüm, bu varoluşsal savaşın çok olağan anlatıldığı bölümlerdi ve beni bir okur olarak kelimenin tam anlamıyla “büyüledi”. Kitabın tüm bölümlerinin o coşkuda gitmesini beklemek de biz okurların bencilliği belki de ama o kadar üst seviyeye taşınmış bir edebi tadın ardından daha basitleşen anlatımla seyreden bölümler biraz etkiyi kırmış gibi geldi bana. İçimden “keşke aynı frekansta ilerleseydi de okuma hazzımı düşürmeseydi ara bölümler,” diye geçirmeden edemedim.
Hans Barrøy; üç şey düşlemişti; motorlu bir tekne, daha büyük bir ada ve başka bir yaşam. İlk iki düşünü sık sık anlatırdı tanıdığı tanımadığı herkese, sonuncusundan hiç söz etmemişti, kendine bile.
Kitabın sonuna geldiğimde tatlı tatlı fısıldadı kulağıma Hans Barrøy; “Senin o yaşadığın kalabalık ama ıssız adanın içinde üçüncü düşün ne?”
Tavsiye ederim.
metropol insanlarından farklı gözüküyor ama ben çok benzerlik yakaladım, yakaladıkça da kendimle yüzleştim. Nerede yaşarsak yaşayalım hayat insanı o hem korunaklı hem de boğan rutinin zeminine yerleştiriveriyor. Haftalar, günler ve hatta çoğu zaman mevsimler, bir öncekinin aynı hep. Issız bir adada olmaktan başkasına inandırabilmemiz için kendimizi, icat ettiğimiz oyunlar, uğraşlar...
Bir adada yaşamak, o adanın bireyleri olarak, geri kalan dünyadan dışlanmışlığın farkında olmadan yaşamaya devam etmek, nasıl güzel verilmiş anlatamam. Onlar içinde bulundukları ruhsal durumu anlamlandırmaya çalışmadılar ama ben o dışlanmışlık hissiyle cebelleştim durdum kitap boyunca.
Kısacık bir roman Görülmeyenler. Soğuk çetin bir iklimin coğrafyasını anlatıyor. Buna rağmen hiç yabancılık çekmiyorsunuz. Adalı olmak, ada psikolojisi adına (ki benim küçüklüğümden beri çok ilgimi çeken bir konudur kendisi) muazzam bir cevher barındırıyor içinde belgesel tadında. Bu manada bana göre Görülmeyenler tam bir “atmosfer kitabı”. Ders niteliğinde okutulabilir atmosfer yaratmak açısından.
Bir tek, bir tek “ah keşke” dediğim bir yan var kitap hakkında; Edebi anlamda, anlatımın çok önde gittiği her bölüm, bu varoluşsal savaşın çok olağan anlatıldığı bölümlerdi ve beni bir okur olarak kelimenin tam anlamıyla “büyüledi”. Kitabın tüm bölümlerinin o coşkuda gitmesini beklemek de biz okurların bencilliği belki de ama o kadar üst seviyeye taşınmış bir edebi tadın ardından daha basitleşen anlatımla seyreden bölümler biraz etkiyi kırmış gibi geldi bana. İçimden “keşke aynı frekansta ilerleseydi de okuma hazzımı düşürmeseydi ara bölümler,” diye geçirmeden edemedim.
Hans Barrøy; üç şey düşlemişti; motorlu bir tekne, daha büyük bir ada ve başka bir yaşam. İlk iki düşünü sık sık anlatırdı tanıdığı tanımadığı herkese, sonuncusundan hiç söz etmemişti, kendine bile.
Kitabın sonuna geldiğimde tatlı tatlı fısıldadı kulağıma Hans Barrøy; “Senin o yaşadığın kalabalık ama ıssız adanın içinde üçüncü düşün ne?”
Tavsiye ederim.
June 30, 2017
I received a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. Thank you to the author, Roy Jacobsen, and the publisher, MacLehose Press, for this opportunity.
This is an insight into the isolated lives of the inhabitants of a Norwegian island. Their daily lives are destructed and recounted for the reader and the latter portions, that see the family's youngest daughter, Ingrid's, transfer to the main land, sharply contrast with this rural way of living.
I initially found the family's daily struggle for survival fascinatingly insightful into a way of life I know nothing about. There were also times, however, that it seemed almost tortuously slow and pointless, as an overtly detailed depiction of events was enumerated. There is little drama and no action, but there was an atmospheric quality that permeated the entire text and brought authenticity to the lives it detailed. Certainly insightful as an in-depth character study, but overall this was lacking pace and alacrity for me.
This is an insight into the isolated lives of the inhabitants of a Norwegian island. Their daily lives are destructed and recounted for the reader and the latter portions, that see the family's youngest daughter, Ingrid's, transfer to the main land, sharply contrast with this rural way of living.
I initially found the family's daily struggle for survival fascinatingly insightful into a way of life I know nothing about. There were also times, however, that it seemed almost tortuously slow and pointless, as an overtly detailed depiction of events was enumerated. There is little drama and no action, but there was an atmospheric quality that permeated the entire text and brought authenticity to the lives it detailed. Certainly insightful as an in-depth character study, but overall this was lacking pace and alacrity for me.
November 17, 2017
Winter begins with a storm. They call it the First Winter Storm. There have been earlier storms, in August and September, for example, bringing sudden and merciless changes to their lives.
The First Winter Storm, on the other hand, is quite a different matter.
It is violent every single time and makes its entrance with a vengeance, they have never experienced anything like it, even though it happened last year. This is the origin of the phrase "in living memory", they have simply forgotten how it was, since they have no choice but to ride the storm, the hell on earth, as best they can, and erase it from their memories as soon as possible.
[..]
The sight of her father is the worst. Had Ingrid not known better she would have thought he was afraid, and he never is. Islanders are never afraid, if they were they wouldn't be able to live here, they would have to pack their goods and chattels and move and be like everyone else in the forest and valleys, it would be a catastrophe, islanders have a dark disposition, they are beset not with fear but solemnity.
The Unseen by Roy Jacobsen is set in the first half of the 20th Century (although there is little to date the novel), on the fictional Barrøy island off the coast of Norway in the Helgelandskysten area.
It is a little under one kilometre from north to south, and half a kilometre from east to west, it has lots of crags and small grassy hollows and sells, deep coves cut into its coast and there are long rugged headlands and three white beaches. And even though on a normal day they can stand in the yard and keep an eye on the sheep, they are not so easy to spot when they are lying down in he long grass, the same goes for people, even an island has its secrets.
The fisherman-cum-farmer Hans Barrøy [is] the island's rightful owner and head of its sole family, comprising his strong-willed wife Maria, born on a neighbouring island, Hans's widowed father Martin, no longer head of the family which he represents, his much younger sister Barbro, a hard worker but rather backwards, and his young daughter Ingrid, three when the novel opens but already troubling her father with wisdom beyond her years, and who he anxiously watches for signs of the one-child-in-a-generation affliction from which he aunt suffers:
"Tha laughs at ev'rythin' nu," he says, reflecting that she knows the difference between play and earnest, she seldom cries, doesn't disobey or show defiance, is never ill, and she learns what she needs to, this disquiet he will have to drive from his mind.
Life on the island is elemental and hard. Hans has to leave his family for several months each year to join a fishing boat, in which he proudly has a full share of the proceeds, as well as (unbeknowest) to his family drawing on bank loans, in order to finance the costs of maintaining the island and, in particular, his own ambitious plans to extend their house and build a proper pier. Much of the building material still comes from flotsam, jetsam and driftwood: Whatever is washed up on an island belongs to the finder and the islanders find a lot. In those days there was no oil-wealth funded Nordic model providing support to the islanders:
As the terrain is so open and exposed someone might well up with the bright idea of clothing the coast in evergreen, spruce or pines for example, and establish idealistic nurseries around Norway and start to ship out large quantities of tiny spruce trees, donating them free of charge to the inhabitants of smaller and bigger islands alike, while telling them that if you plant these trees on your land and let them grow, succeeding generations will have fuel and timber too. The wind will stop blowing the soil into the sea, and both man and beast will enjoy shelter and peace where hitherto they had the wind in their hair day and night; but then the islands would no longer look like floating temples on the horizon, they would resemble neglected wastelands of sedge grass and northern dock. No, no one would think of doing this, of destroying a horizon. The horizon is probably the most important resource they have out here, the quivering optic nerve in a dream although they barely notice it, let alone attempt to articulate its significance. No, nobody would even consider doing this until the country attains such wealth that it is in the process of going to wrack and ruin.
Hans expects to live out his life on the island but Barbro wants to find a role in service on the mainland. Nobody can leave an island. An island is a cosmos in a nutshell, where the stars slumber in the grass beneath the snow. But occasionally someone tries. (in the original: Ingen kan forlade en ø, en ø er et kosmos i en nøddeskal med stjernerne sovende i græsset under sneen.")
Concerned at her being mistreated and abused - her first putative employer manages to refer to her as "the imbecile" three times as she shows them the room Hans's sister is to share with the other maid - Hans keeps insisting Barbro returns to the island until she takes matters, and the oars of the family boat, into her own hands, but even then she eventually finds her way back.
Hans Barrøy had three dreams: he dreamed about a boat with a motor, about a bigger island and a different life. He mentioned the first two dreams readily and often, and to all and sundry, the last he never talked about, not even to himself.
Maria had three dreams too: more children, a smaller island and - a different life. Unlike her husband she often thought about the last of these, and her yearning grew and grew as the first two paled and withered.
But it is Ingrid, still biologically a child, who, as the seasons turn and the cycle of life progresses, has to take on the island and their dreams.
The novel has been translated by the deservedly renowed Don Bartlett, translator of the excellent Karl Ove Knausgård, Per Petterson and Lars Saabye Christensen as well as the best-selling Jo Nesbø and Jostein Gaarder. Although this, as well as Jacobsen's previous novels and novels by Erlend Loe, has been co-translated by Don Shaw.
The translation generally lives up to Bartlett's very high standards, although the attempt to render the dialect of the locals into English fell a little flat for me, with lines such as
"My word, hvur bitty it is. A can scarce see th' houses"
and
"By Jove, A can see th' rectory too"
Norwegian literature is perhaps my favourite in Europe - with authors such as Dag Solstad and Jan Kjærstad, as well of course as Hamsun, to add to the aforementioned Karl Ove Knausgård, Per Petterson and Lars Saabye Christensen - and this novel adds another name to that impressive list.
I would hope to see this on the MBI shortlist.
It is always the person who has been away who gains the greatest pleasure from knowing time stands still.
The First Winter Storm, on the other hand, is quite a different matter.
It is violent every single time and makes its entrance with a vengeance, they have never experienced anything like it, even though it happened last year. This is the origin of the phrase "in living memory", they have simply forgotten how it was, since they have no choice but to ride the storm, the hell on earth, as best they can, and erase it from their memories as soon as possible.
[..]
The sight of her father is the worst. Had Ingrid not known better she would have thought he was afraid, and he never is. Islanders are never afraid, if they were they wouldn't be able to live here, they would have to pack their goods and chattels and move and be like everyone else in the forest and valleys, it would be a catastrophe, islanders have a dark disposition, they are beset not with fear but solemnity.
The Unseen by Roy Jacobsen is set in the first half of the 20th Century (although there is little to date the novel), on the fictional Barrøy island off the coast of Norway in the Helgelandskysten area.
It is a little under one kilometre from north to south, and half a kilometre from east to west, it has lots of crags and small grassy hollows and sells, deep coves cut into its coast and there are long rugged headlands and three white beaches. And even though on a normal day they can stand in the yard and keep an eye on the sheep, they are not so easy to spot when they are lying down in he long grass, the same goes for people, even an island has its secrets.
The fisherman-cum-farmer Hans Barrøy [is] the island's rightful owner and head of its sole family, comprising his strong-willed wife Maria, born on a neighbouring island, Hans's widowed father Martin, no longer head of the family which he represents, his much younger sister Barbro, a hard worker but rather backwards, and his young daughter Ingrid, three when the novel opens but already troubling her father with wisdom beyond her years, and who he anxiously watches for signs of the one-child-in-a-generation affliction from which he aunt suffers:
"Tha laughs at ev'rythin' nu," he says, reflecting that she knows the difference between play and earnest, she seldom cries, doesn't disobey or show defiance, is never ill, and she learns what she needs to, this disquiet he will have to drive from his mind.
Life on the island is elemental and hard. Hans has to leave his family for several months each year to join a fishing boat, in which he proudly has a full share of the proceeds, as well as (unbeknowest) to his family drawing on bank loans, in order to finance the costs of maintaining the island and, in particular, his own ambitious plans to extend their house and build a proper pier. Much of the building material still comes from flotsam, jetsam and driftwood: Whatever is washed up on an island belongs to the finder and the islanders find a lot. In those days there was no oil-wealth funded Nordic model providing support to the islanders:
As the terrain is so open and exposed someone might well up with the bright idea of clothing the coast in evergreen, spruce or pines for example, and establish idealistic nurseries around Norway and start to ship out large quantities of tiny spruce trees, donating them free of charge to the inhabitants of smaller and bigger islands alike, while telling them that if you plant these trees on your land and let them grow, succeeding generations will have fuel and timber too. The wind will stop blowing the soil into the sea, and both man and beast will enjoy shelter and peace where hitherto they had the wind in their hair day and night; but then the islands would no longer look like floating temples on the horizon, they would resemble neglected wastelands of sedge grass and northern dock. No, no one would think of doing this, of destroying a horizon. The horizon is probably the most important resource they have out here, the quivering optic nerve in a dream although they barely notice it, let alone attempt to articulate its significance. No, nobody would even consider doing this until the country attains such wealth that it is in the process of going to wrack and ruin.
Hans expects to live out his life on the island but Barbro wants to find a role in service on the mainland. Nobody can leave an island. An island is a cosmos in a nutshell, where the stars slumber in the grass beneath the snow. But occasionally someone tries. (in the original: Ingen kan forlade en ø, en ø er et kosmos i en nøddeskal med stjernerne sovende i græsset under sneen.")
Concerned at her being mistreated and abused - her first putative employer manages to refer to her as "the imbecile" three times as she shows them the room Hans's sister is to share with the other maid - Hans keeps insisting Barbro returns to the island until she takes matters, and the oars of the family boat, into her own hands, but even then she eventually finds her way back.
Hans Barrøy had three dreams: he dreamed about a boat with a motor, about a bigger island and a different life. He mentioned the first two dreams readily and often, and to all and sundry, the last he never talked about, not even to himself.
Maria had three dreams too: more children, a smaller island and - a different life. Unlike her husband she often thought about the last of these, and her yearning grew and grew as the first two paled and withered.
But it is Ingrid, still biologically a child, who, as the seasons turn and the cycle of life progresses, has to take on the island and their dreams.
The novel has been translated by the deservedly renowed Don Bartlett, translator of the excellent Karl Ove Knausgård, Per Petterson and Lars Saabye Christensen as well as the best-selling Jo Nesbø and Jostein Gaarder. Although this, as well as Jacobsen's previous novels and novels by Erlend Loe, has been co-translated by Don Shaw.
The translation generally lives up to Bartlett's very high standards, although the attempt to render the dialect of the locals into English fell a little flat for me, with lines such as
"My word, hvur bitty it is. A can scarce see th' houses"
and
"By Jove, A can see th' rectory too"
Norwegian literature is perhaps my favourite in Europe - with authors such as Dag Solstad and Jan Kjærstad, as well of course as Hamsun, to add to the aforementioned Karl Ove Knausgård, Per Petterson and Lars Saabye Christensen - and this novel adds another name to that impressive list.
I would hope to see this on the MBI shortlist.
It is always the person who has been away who gains the greatest pleasure from knowing time stands still.
November 24, 2024
This is a story about a family which lives on an island on the northern cost of Norway.
It’s a story about the ordinary life of a simple family ( ordinary in the 20th century Norwegian standard )
it tells the daily life and the passing of years & seasons over the island and its inhabitants
In the first half of the book it felt a bit boring because there isn’t anything special and interesting happening but I appreciate this set up eventually because this is the point of the story, they aren’t a special family with a different lifestyle, no they are a typical Norwegian-islands family
It’s very interesting to be introduced to a completely different lifestyles and environment than my own .
It’s a story about the ordinary life of a simple family ( ordinary in the 20th century Norwegian standard )
it tells the daily life and the passing of years & seasons over the island and its inhabitants
In the first half of the book it felt a bit boring because there isn’t anything special and interesting happening but I appreciate this set up eventually because this is the point of the story, they aren’t a special family with a different lifestyle, no they are a typical Norwegian-islands family
It’s very interesting to be introduced to a completely different lifestyles and environment than my own .
August 17, 2020
This is a tale about life on a tiny island, one kilometer north to south and half a kilometer east to west, one of the islands of the Lofoten archipelago in northwestern Norway, above the Arctic Circle. This island is fictitious, but there do exist many that are similar. One family lives on the island-- the Barrøy family. There is Hans, his wife Maria, Hans’ father Martin, his sister Barbro and his young daughter Ingrid. She is three at the start of the novel. Years pass and who remains living on the island changes. Timewise, the setting is the first half of the 20th century. The island remains and the wind and the sleet and the rain. The snow, the dark nights of winter and the perpetual light of summer.
Life on this island is a never-ending struggle against harsh conditions, poverty and the elements of nature. The Barrøy family eek out their living through fishing, sheep, cows and the collection of eiderdown. It is the description of this life that is the central focus of the book.
While the struggle for existence is well depicted, the physical attributes of the land less so. Furthermore, the beauty of the land and its pull and attraction are ?
I had trouble with this book at the start. Halfway through I was still having trouble. I felt nothing for the characters. I found the writing disjointed and unclear. I would find myself asking: who is being spoken of and how many years have passed and what is the significance of that?
There is a priest who visits the island. He tells us “Life is hell!” He sums up all that we have observed. I find it strange that this man is frightened of all travel on water, even when there is not even the slightest breeze. He lives on an archipelago! Stranger still is that nothing is made of this in the story line, and why must it be repeated over and over again? Many details are repeated in the telling of the story. Many characters’ peculiarities remain unexplained. Barbro, for example, I would have liked to know more of her past. This book is supposed to be the first of a series. Is that the hitch? Are we to buy the following books to get the full story? Or have I missed something? In any case, due to insufficient information, I never felt empathy for the characters.
Conveying the feel of a prose style is difficult. I felt the author was striving to make the prose deep, meaningful and lyrical, but in the act of trying so hard he failed. This is more prominent in the first half of the novel.
In the second half, the plot picks up and the writing becomes leaner, clearer and straight forward in tone, which better fits a tale about the rugged existence on the island.
By the book’s end the continuity of life from generation to generation comes forth. In this continuity there is a message of hope, but why must the revelation be saved for the very end?
The book has been translated by Don Bartlett and Don Shaw. It Is not fair for me to judge the translation without comparing both texts, but often I found the wording extremely peculiar. What is this supposed to mean?
(The land) “was becoming an existential abscess.”
Poor writing or poor translation? I do not know. Please remember how I spoke above of the author’s attempt to write deep meaningful lines.
I listened to the audiobook narrated by Rachael Beresford. In the beginning I detested it. After a while I got used to it, but I never, ever thought it was OK. She drones rather than speaks. I had to start the book over because she put me to sleep. The tone is level and steady and without any ups and downs. Sometimes, she went up in the middle of a sentence, which made no sense at all. After a while I got used to the level, droning tone, and most often I could understand the words, but the dialogs were hopeless. I have been told by a reader of the paper book that she too found the dialogs difficult. Thankfully, there are not many dialogs and those that exist are short. But is this good? No! I will avoid this narrator in the future. I try very hard to separate my view of the author’s written words from the narrator’s expression of these words. Separating the two is in cases like this a challenge; listening was not enjoyable. I have given the narration performance one star.
Life on this island is a never-ending struggle against harsh conditions, poverty and the elements of nature. The Barrøy family eek out their living through fishing, sheep, cows and the collection of eiderdown. It is the description of this life that is the central focus of the book.
While the struggle for existence is well depicted, the physical attributes of the land less so. Furthermore, the beauty of the land and its pull and attraction are ?
I had trouble with this book at the start. Halfway through I was still having trouble. I felt nothing for the characters. I found the writing disjointed and unclear. I would find myself asking: who is being spoken of and how many years have passed and what is the significance of that?
There is a priest who visits the island. He tells us “Life is hell!” He sums up all that we have observed. I find it strange that this man is frightened of all travel on water, even when there is not even the slightest breeze. He lives on an archipelago! Stranger still is that nothing is made of this in the story line, and why must it be repeated over and over again? Many details are repeated in the telling of the story. Many characters’ peculiarities remain unexplained. Barbro, for example, I would have liked to know more of her past. This book is supposed to be the first of a series. Is that the hitch? Are we to buy the following books to get the full story? Or have I missed something? In any case, due to insufficient information, I never felt empathy for the characters.
Conveying the feel of a prose style is difficult. I felt the author was striving to make the prose deep, meaningful and lyrical, but in the act of trying so hard he failed. This is more prominent in the first half of the novel.
In the second half, the plot picks up and the writing becomes leaner, clearer and straight forward in tone, which better fits a tale about the rugged existence on the island.
By the book’s end the continuity of life from generation to generation comes forth. In this continuity there is a message of hope, but why must the revelation be saved for the very end?
The book has been translated by Don Bartlett and Don Shaw. It Is not fair for me to judge the translation without comparing both texts, but often I found the wording extremely peculiar. What is this supposed to mean?
(The land) “was becoming an existential abscess.”
Poor writing or poor translation? I do not know. Please remember how I spoke above of the author’s attempt to write deep meaningful lines.
I listened to the audiobook narrated by Rachael Beresford. In the beginning I detested it. After a while I got used to it, but I never, ever thought it was OK. She drones rather than speaks. I had to start the book over because she put me to sleep. The tone is level and steady and without any ups and downs. Sometimes, she went up in the middle of a sentence, which made no sense at all. After a while I got used to the level, droning tone, and most often I could understand the words, but the dialogs were hopeless. I have been told by a reader of the paper book that she too found the dialogs difficult. Thankfully, there are not many dialogs and those that exist are short. But is this good? No! I will avoid this narrator in the future. I try very hard to separate my view of the author’s written words from the narrator’s expression of these words. Separating the two is in cases like this a challenge; listening was not enjoyable. I have given the narration performance one star.
January 28, 2020
I was so lucky to get this book recommended to me by my friend Lina.
For a couple of too short hours I got immersed into the world of sea and cold, silence and darkness, but also light and lightness. Rough seasons of weather, people who don't talk much but feel a lot. Nature, animals, birds. Fish. Show don't tell. Islanders, prisoners of their own island, they can't imagine no other place for themselves as a home. Everyone else is an intruder, even the friendly ones. I get that. Gosh, this was so beautiful. Maybe even heartwarming, surprisingly enough. I just loved it.
If you've ever seen The Weather Diaries (Orų dienoraščiai) exhibition and enjoyed it this is a must read.
For a couple of too short hours I got immersed into the world of sea and cold, silence and darkness, but also light and lightness. Rough seasons of weather, people who don't talk much but feel a lot. Nature, animals, birds. Fish. Show don't tell. Islanders, prisoners of their own island, they can't imagine no other place for themselves as a home. Everyone else is an intruder, even the friendly ones. I get that. Gosh, this was so beautiful. Maybe even heartwarming, surprisingly enough. I just loved it.
If you've ever seen The Weather Diaries (Orų dienoraščiai) exhibition and enjoyed it this is a must read.
December 3, 2018
Viskas yra kaip yra. Gyveni sau, žmogau, ir viskas susidėlioja kažkaip. Net ir kai labai nesiseka, bandai dar kartą ir dar kartą, ir dar kartą. Pasiseka kažkada. Arba imiesi daryti kažką kitą. Irgi gerai. Kartais, atrodo, nutrūksta kažkas ir žvilgsnis pasikeičia. Tada išplauki su mintimi nebegrįžti. Bet paplaukioji ir grįžti. Ir vėl imiesi kažką daryti. Ir dar. Ne visko, ko norisi, iš tikrųjų reikia.
Nuostabi knyga.
Nuostabi knyga.
January 7, 2019
Lėtai tekantis pasakojimas. Pats tas po visų švenčių, pats tas žiemai, pats tas, kai norisi tykiai ir ramiai pasibūti.
Įkvepia veikėjų ramybė net ir pačiose sudėtingiausiose situacijose. Išeitis visada yra ir ji prasideda nuo kasdienio veiksmo.
Įkvepia veikėjų ramybė net ir pačiose sudėtingiausiose situacijose. Išeitis visada yra ir ji prasideda nuo kasdienio veiksmo.
April 15, 2017
"Hans Barrøy had three dreams: he dreamed about a boat with a motor, about a bigger island and a different life. He mentioned the first two dreams readily and often, to all and sundry, the last he never talked about, not even to himself. Maria had three dreams too: more children, a smaller island and – a different life. Unlike her husband she often thought about the last of these, and this yearning grew and grew as the first two paled and withered."
This is the story of a family on an island. Hans and Maria plus the generations either side of them. It is the story of an isolated group of people making a life out of what can be an inhospitable environment. At various times, some of them leave the island, but "once you settle on an island, you never leave, an island holds on to what it has with all its might and main."
In the UK (and elsewhere, I believe), we have something called "Slow TV" and this book feels quite a lot like watching a Slow TV programme (this is a good thing, by the way: I have enjoyed watching the Slow TV programs broadcast in the UK). Events unfold: it doesn't feel like the plot is driving it along as much as events are happening as and when they are ready to happen and we are there to see them unfold. There's a quiet lack of drama about it, even in the most dramatic bits. This isn't a criticism because it is a very enjoyable book to read. The only thing I didn't like about it is the attempt to convert the dialect of the islanders into English - it didn't work for me.
I think I would like to see this on the Man Booker International shortlist, although I have a few others to read that could displace it.
This is the story of a family on an island. Hans and Maria plus the generations either side of them. It is the story of an isolated group of people making a life out of what can be an inhospitable environment. At various times, some of them leave the island, but "once you settle on an island, you never leave, an island holds on to what it has with all its might and main."
In the UK (and elsewhere, I believe), we have something called "Slow TV" and this book feels quite a lot like watching a Slow TV programme (this is a good thing, by the way: I have enjoyed watching the Slow TV programs broadcast in the UK). Events unfold: it doesn't feel like the plot is driving it along as much as events are happening as and when they are ready to happen and we are there to see them unfold. There's a quiet lack of drama about it, even in the most dramatic bits. This isn't a criticism because it is a very enjoyable book to read. The only thing I didn't like about it is the attempt to convert the dialect of the islanders into English - it didn't work for me.
I think I would like to see this on the Man Booker International shortlist, although I have a few others to read that could displace it.
August 7, 2019
Με συγκίνησε πολύ.
May 26, 2023
3.5
Szkoda, że nie mam teraz dostępu do drugiej części, bo od razu bym zaczęła.
Szkoda, że nie mam teraz dostępu do drugiej części, bo od razu bym zaczęła.
August 5, 2023
Son zamanlarda okuduğum en huzurlu, en yalın kitap. Hikaye Norveç'in ufak adalarından birinde geçiyor, Barroy Adası'nın tek sakini olan bir ailenin yaşadıklarını konu alıyor. Kitap kısa kısa bölümlerden, sıradan ama insanın içine dokunan bir olay örgüsünden oluşuyor.
Görülmeyenler'e dair en çok sevdiğim şey gündelik hikayeleri sade ve hüzünlü bir dille aktarmış olması. Devamı olan Beyaz Deniz'i de en kısa zamanda okuyacağım. Norveç Edebiyatı'yla tanışmak isteyen herkese tavsiye ederim.
Görülmeyenler'e dair en çok sevdiğim şey gündelik hikayeleri sade ve hüzünlü bir dille aktarmış olması. Devamı olan Beyaz Deniz'i de en kısa zamanda okuyacağım. Norveç Edebiyatı'yla tanışmak isteyen herkese tavsiye ederim.
October 30, 2021
4,5*
Ik lees dat in de oorspronkelijke schrijftaal en evenzo in de engelse vertaling gebruik gemaakt wordt van dialect in de dialogen, iets waar veel lezers zich aan ergeren. Gelukkig geen dialect in de nederlandse vertaling.
Ik viel voor de cover en blijf na lezing verheerlijkt liggen. Helemaal mijn ding, prachtig!
Ik lees dat in de oorspronkelijke schrijftaal en evenzo in de engelse vertaling gebruik gemaakt wordt van dialect in de dialogen, iets waar veel lezers zich aan ergeren. Gelukkig geen dialect in de nederlandse vertaling.
Ik viel voor de cover en blijf na lezing verheerlijkt liggen. Helemaal mijn ding, prachtig!
October 8, 2018
Niewielka rodzinna wyspa Barrøy daleko na północnym morzu, która jest wszystkim i nikt nie może z niej uciec, nawet jej mieszkańcy – „Niewidzialni” Roya Jacobsena.
„Niewidzialni” to prosta i piękna historia – melancholijna, nostalgiczna, miejscami tragiczna, miejscami zabawna, ot życie, uchwycone momenty, zwyczajne i niezwyczajne, takie, które trzymają czytelnika przy lekturze. „Dzieci z Bullerbyn” dla dorosłych? Tak. Dla mnie tak. To jedno z wyjątkowych odkryć literackich tego roku.
To, co łączy powieść Roya Jacobsena z powieścią Astrid Lindgren to umiejętność uchwycenia niewielkich, życiowych, niby zwyczajnych momentów i sprawienie, że stają się one niezwykłe, przynajmniej dla nas, oczarowanych codziennością Barrøy czytelników. To proste powtarzanie kolejnych czynności, jak suszenie ryb, oprawianie sieci, dojenie krów, robienie na drutach… Z perspektywy bohaterów „Niewidzialnych” to czynności zaprawione wyjątkowością, bo dzieją się tu i teraz dla nich, a my jesteśmy tuż obok, patrzymy na nich i przeżywamy każdą chwilę. Dostrzegamy również niedopowiedzenia, pytania, które wiszą między bohaterami, ich samotność, chociaż to samotność jednostek nierozerwalnych ze sobą. Widzimy potrzebę spojrzenia poza horyzont, narodziny nowej generacji, która czuje siłę, czuje moc płynącą z krwi i ciężkiej pracy swoich przodków. Oni może też nigdy nie opuszczą Barrøy, ale zaznaczą jej istnienie swoimi czynami.
„Niewidzialni” to prosta i piękna historia – melancholijna, nostalgiczna, miejscami tragiczna, miejscami zabawna, ot życie, uchwycone momenty, zwyczajne i niezwyczajne, takie, które trzymają czytelnika przy lekturze. „Dzieci z Bullerbyn” dla dorosłych? Tak. Dla mnie tak. To jedno z wyjątkowych odkryć literackich tego roku.
To, co łączy powieść Roya Jacobsena z powieścią Astrid Lindgren to umiejętność uchwycenia niewielkich, życiowych, niby zwyczajnych momentów i sprawienie, że stają się one niezwykłe, przynajmniej dla nas, oczarowanych codziennością Barrøy czytelników. To proste powtarzanie kolejnych czynności, jak suszenie ryb, oprawianie sieci, dojenie krów, robienie na drutach… Z perspektywy bohaterów „Niewidzialnych” to czynności zaprawione wyjątkowością, bo dzieją się tu i teraz dla nich, a my jesteśmy tuż obok, patrzymy na nich i przeżywamy każdą chwilę. Dostrzegamy również niedopowiedzenia, pytania, które wiszą między bohaterami, ich samotność, chociaż to samotność jednostek nierozerwalnych ze sobą. Widzimy potrzebę spojrzenia poza horyzont, narodziny nowej generacji, która czuje siłę, czuje moc płynącą z krwi i ciężkiej pracy swoich przodków. Oni może też nigdy nie opuszczą Barrøy, ale zaznaczą jej istnienie swoimi czynami.
May 19, 2019
Skandinavų, dailus viršelis ir Man Booker nominacija - trys dalykai magiškai pelnantys mano palankumą knygai! O dar pridėkite “Klassekampen” žodžius, jog “Neregimieji” - šedevras, svarbiausias šiuolaikinis norvegų romanas. Viskas! Abejonių nelieka - imam ir skaitom!
Na, o su skaitymu reikalai įdomūs. Kūrinyje veiksmo mažai, kas man ne problema, tačiau reikėjo įsiskaityti, nes nuo pirmo puslapio nepagavo. Veiksmas vyksta mažoje Norvegijos salelėje, kurioje gyvena Bariojų šeima: senelis, jo dukra bei sūnus su šeima. Veiksmas, kiek jo ten yra, sukasi mažoje erdvėje ir yra stipriai įtakojamas gamtos ciklo. Viskas absoliučiai priešinga šiuolaikinio žmogaus kasdienybei - veikimo erdvė siaura, galimybių veikti nedaug, bendravimas siaurame rate ir dar ta gamta, primetanti savo taisykles ir taip sunkioje kasdienybėje. Ši knyga - tai malda kasdienybei. Paprasto gyvenimo nepaprasta poezija. Apie tai, kaip mažytė sala pasiglemžia mažus žmonių gyvenimus ir įtraukia į save. Dažniausiai ir nebepaleidžia. Kasdienis triūsas, kuris lėtas lėtas, bet labai atkakalus. Darbas, kurio rezulatų irgi nepamatysi čia ir dabar. Salą sudrebinti gali tik du įvykiai - mirtis ir gimimas. Taip ir atsitinka. O toliau tik geriau - puslapius versti norisi dar ir dar. Jau nekantrauju sulaukti antros dalies.
Knyga patiks tipiškos lėtos skandinaviškos literatūros mylėtojams. Pasakojimas gilus. Emocijomis nesidrabstoma, bet išgyvenimų daug ir gilių. Gero skaitymo.
Na, o su skaitymu reikalai įdomūs. Kūrinyje veiksmo mažai, kas man ne problema, tačiau reikėjo įsiskaityti, nes nuo pirmo puslapio nepagavo. Veiksmas vyksta mažoje Norvegijos salelėje, kurioje gyvena Bariojų šeima: senelis, jo dukra bei sūnus su šeima. Veiksmas, kiek jo ten yra, sukasi mažoje erdvėje ir yra stipriai įtakojamas gamtos ciklo. Viskas absoliučiai priešinga šiuolaikinio žmogaus kasdienybei - veikimo erdvė siaura, galimybių veikti nedaug, bendravimas siaurame rate ir dar ta gamta, primetanti savo taisykles ir taip sunkioje kasdienybėje. Ši knyga - tai malda kasdienybei. Paprasto gyvenimo nepaprasta poezija. Apie tai, kaip mažytė sala pasiglemžia mažus žmonių gyvenimus ir įtraukia į save. Dažniausiai ir nebepaleidžia. Kasdienis triūsas, kuris lėtas lėtas, bet labai atkakalus. Darbas, kurio rezulatų irgi nepamatysi čia ir dabar. Salą sudrebinti gali tik du įvykiai - mirtis ir gimimas. Taip ir atsitinka. O toliau tik geriau - puslapius versti norisi dar ir dar. Jau nekantrauju sulaukti antros dalies.
Knyga patiks tipiškos lėtos skandinaviškos literatūros mylėtojams. Pasakojimas gilus. Emocijomis nesidrabstoma, bet išgyvenimų daug ir gilių. Gero skaitymo.
June 13, 2024
Norveç’ten yine sağlam bir yazar. Jacobsen’i ilk kez okudum, devam da ederim. 20. yüzyıl başlarında Norveç’in kuzeyinde küçük bir adada kendi başlarına yaşayan bir ailenin hikayesi, günlük rutinleri, yaşam mücadelesi anlatılan. Ama ne mücadele… Ve bu çocukluktan başlıyor. O koşullarında başka şansları da yok zaten. Tabii bu doğanın vahşi olduğu kadar çekici olduğunu söylemeye gerek yok. Jacobsen sade üslubuyla hem doğanın hem de ailenin değişen dinamiklerini ince ince işlemiş. Keza arada adaya gelen akraba veya tacirlerle kurulan ilişki, ailenin ihtiyaç oldukça kıyıya gittiğinde karşılaştığı toplumsal, ekonomik tablo çok güzel çizilmiş. Yaşanan acılar da mutluluklar da hiçbir abartıya kaçmadan, ama okuyanı etkileyen bir şekilde verilmiş. Kuzey duyarlılığına ve ada kavramına (“Bir konuk bir özlem yaratır. Adalılara bir şeylerden yoksun olduklarını, o gelmeden önce de bir şeylerin eksikliğini hissetiklerini, gittiğinde bu yoksunluğu hissetmeyi sürdüreceklerini anlatır.”) ilgi duyanlar için harika bir örnek Görülmeyenler. Deniz Canefe’nin çevirisi de çok iyi.
April 18, 2017
This one just wasn't for me unfortunately.
I was reeled in by a promising sounding blurb, with its isolated and weather-torn Norwegian island setting. The idea of following a young girl and her life growing up in this unusual environment, with its self-imposed isolation sounded like exactly the kind of thing I would have loved. Unfortunately, I just found the lack of plot to make the read incredibly dull and dreary.
I also didn't particularly enjoy this particular translation either - I found that while the main prose sections were done well enough, sounding quite seamless in the English language, it fell down when it came to the dialogue - Jacobsen writes in an unusual Norwegian dialogue, which translated clumsily and took me out of the flow of the writing far too often for my liking.
Overall, not a particularly interesting or satisfying read for me, and I'm surprised this ended up on the longlist.
I was reeled in by a promising sounding blurb, with its isolated and weather-torn Norwegian island setting. The idea of following a young girl and her life growing up in this unusual environment, with its self-imposed isolation sounded like exactly the kind of thing I would have loved. Unfortunately, I just found the lack of plot to make the read incredibly dull and dreary.
I also didn't particularly enjoy this particular translation either - I found that while the main prose sections were done well enough, sounding quite seamless in the English language, it fell down when it came to the dialogue - Jacobsen writes in an unusual Norwegian dialogue, which translated clumsily and took me out of the flow of the writing far too often for my liking.
Overall, not a particularly interesting or satisfying read for me, and I'm surprised this ended up on the longlist.
March 5, 2019
Papirko autorius rašymo stiliumi, skandinaviška ramybe, teksto gilumu. Dėmesį pirma patraukė šios knygos tęsinys "Balta jūra", tad "Neregimuosius" čiupau užuodusi, kad čia turėtų būti daug laukinės jūros ir sunkiai suvokiamo savo noru pasirinkto gyvenimo atšiaurioje, mažoje saloje. Neapsirikau, jausmas lyg radus savo ilgai medžiotą lobį.
"Kalbame apie tylą prieš audrą, apie tai, kad tyla būna įspėjimas, šovinio dėjimas į ginklą, arba kad, norėdami suvokti jos reikšmę, ilgai turime vartyti Bibliją. Bet tyla saloje yra niekis. Niekas apie ją nekalba, niekas jos neprisimena ir neįvardija, nors ir kokį gilų pėdsaką jiems paliktų. Ji yra trumpas dirstelėjimas į mirtį, jiems dar esant gyviems."
"Būna taip, kad jie sulaukia svečių iš kitų salų. Tada svečiai vaišinami valgiais ir kava, šneka be perstojo vienas per kitą, nes į salos gyventojų vidų prikapsi žodžių, kurie kada nors turi išsilieti. Kai ištuštėja, jie vėl keliauja namo ir kaupia naujus sakinius."
"Kalbame apie tylą prieš audrą, apie tai, kad tyla būna įspėjimas, šovinio dėjimas į ginklą, arba kad, norėdami suvokti jos reikšmę, ilgai turime vartyti Bibliją. Bet tyla saloje yra niekis. Niekas apie ją nekalba, niekas jos neprisimena ir neįvardija, nors ir kokį gilų pėdsaką jiems paliktų. Ji yra trumpas dirstelėjimas į mirtį, jiems dar esant gyviems."
"Būna taip, kad jie sulaukia svečių iš kitų salų. Tada svečiai vaišinami valgiais ir kava, šneka be perstojo vienas per kitą, nes į salos gyventojų vidų prikapsi žodžių, kurie kada nors turi išsilieti. Kai ištuštėja, jie vėl keliauja namo ir kaupia naujus sakinius."
November 11, 2020
Nee; deze lag me niet.
Meermaals gedacht om het op te geven, maar ik laat niet graag een boek ongelezen achter.
Ondanks de lovende kritieken, kon het me niet bekoren.
Ik kon er mijn gedachten niet bijhouden.
Nee; deze lag me echt niet.
Meermaals gedacht om het op te geven, maar ik laat niet graag een boek ongelezen achter.
Ondanks de lovende kritieken, kon het me niet bekoren.
Ik kon er mijn gedachten niet bijhouden.
Nee; deze lag me echt niet.
September 29, 2024
There's a great deal of internet chatter, on GR and elsewhere, floating the idea that men, as a group, have outlived their usefulness. On the evidence of this book, I'm inclined to agree. The small group of people who inhabit this book are completely exposed. Their small island off the northern coast of Norway is hellishly cold and wet, and the dozen or so characters on the island at the book's beginning have no Coast Guard, no police force, no medical service, no grocery store. Anything they eat, they grow themselves, squeeze out of a cow's udder or pluck from the unruly sea. When threats appear, in the form of high winds, high fever or uninvited and menacing guests, the men of the island -- both of them -- do not have the luxury of picking up the phone. It is something they must face down themselves.
This book, among other things, describes what happens -- what has to happen -- when the men are not around. The workload does not diminish much. Threats remain pervasive. Should young children and the damaged elderly be placed on a passing iceberg and floated out to sea? But that's not the sort of people that inhabit this island. Complaining is not part of the culture. When things go wrong, they just lower their shoulders and get on with it.
One young woman almost escapes:
Many of us will recognize parts of this tale in stories passed down by our ancestors. Those were some tough bastards.
This book, among other things, describes what happens -- what has to happen -- when the men are not around. The workload does not diminish much. Threats remain pervasive. Should young children and the damaged elderly be placed on a passing iceberg and floated out to sea? But that's not the sort of people that inhabit this island. Complaining is not part of the culture. When things go wrong, they just lower their shoulders and get on with it.
One young woman almost escapes:
It is a grind to fetch peat and go to the cowshed and potato cellar and pull in the nets with Barbro and gut fish, this is not something real women do, they stand in front of mirrors and sing in choirs and wait for a letter to arrive, they laugh with other women and go for walks in groups wearing the same clothes, beneath an azure sky where the sea cannot be heard.But while the island is truly bleak, there is an obvious appeal to a life unencumbered by constant demands from others which is the essence of "civilized society."
Many of us will recognize parts of this tale in stories passed down by our ancestors. Those were some tough bastards.
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