The fish can sing just like a bird,And grazes on the moorland scree,While cattle in a lowing herdRoam the rolling sea.Starting from this Icelandic paradox put in verse, Halldór Laxness weaves an enchanting tale on the outskirts of Reykjavík, in a time when the price of a Bible was equal to that of a heifer and people still tried to cure headaches by smearing their faces with warm cow-dung. Some say that The Fish Can Sing is a coming-of-age novel, but I don't really see it that way; it is more the diary of a place, Brekkukot, and the portrait of a generation long gone, in a time when Reykjavík was just a bunch of houses inhabited by farmers and fishermen. Álfgrímur is an abandoned child who grows up at Brekkukot, surrounded by peculiar people and evening sessions of sagas and rímur. His childhood revolves around Brekkukot, convinced, like the eminent Candide, that the world we live in is best at home. He reminisces about a lot of things there: a clock in whose ticking he discovered eternity, a window so small that it was possible to see only one blade of grass and one star. Álfgrímur doesn't perceive himself as poor and he wants to become a fisherman, just like his adoptive grandfather. Until one day, when he hears about the one pure note and starts to indulge in dreams of becoming a singer. This is one of the details I loved most in this novel - one blade of grass and one star. Such a tiny universe and yet so grand! Because Brekkukot is an open place for the unfortunate and the poor, who bring with them strange stories and peculiar situations. All sorts of people come to live here from all over Iceland - some just in passing, others to stay for good, until their dying day. Álfgrímur shares the loft with three permanent inhabitants - a genuine saga-men who used to pilot Danish ships; a philosopher with a mysterious job whom the child believes to be descended from the Hidden People; and an occasional drunk, admirer of cesspools, who in old age was to become the first person to be run over by a car in Iceland. The household is run by Álfgrímur's adoptive grandfather, Björn of Brekkukot, and his companion - whom Álfgrímur calls his grandmother, two people that Laxness endows with unforgettable traits. No matter the circumstances, fisherman Björn sold his fish at the same price, rejecting all the fundamental rules of economics, because he thought that people accumulated more money that they actually needed. He used to read the Bible in a monotonous and solemn chant, a special manner of reading that is now lost. Wealthy people considered he had no ambition, but how much benefit could it bring to a man who was obviously more happy than most? Álfgrímur's grandmother is a mysterious character to him, because he doesn't really get to know her. She was a well of knowledge, answering people with sayings and proverbs, knowing whole ballads by heart from beginning to end. And it seemed she never had a bed of her own to sleep in. It was not until after I was fully grown that I noticed her sufficiently to feel that I really saw her. Suddenly one day I simply felt that she was probably closer to me than anyone else in the world, even though I knew less about her than anyone else and despite the fact that she had been in her grave for some time by then. And then there is the elusive Garðar Hólm, the most famous Icelander, known all over the world for his amazing voice. Álfgrímur has the chance to meet him several times when the singer comes to Reykjavík, not knowing what to think of his strange and unapproachable character. He can't even hear him sing, because Garðar Hólm always leaves unexpectedly before his due concert. Music had not been an educational subject in Iceland since the Middle Ages – indeed, it was considered an affectation or an aberration, especially among the educated – until Garðar Hólm won for Iceland musical fame abroad; and then a few people began to think more highly of it. But for a long time afterwards it was still generally considered rather odd to be famous for singing. So it was practically unthinkable in my younger days for people to let themselves in for the tedium that music involved, except in the cause of salvation; music was good when people had to be put into the ground.You know the case of the studious pupil that makes a good impression with teachers and, even if later he becomes lazy and uninterested, they still give him good grades? I know this, as I've been there. Well, the same thing happened with me and Halldór Laxness: I fell in love with his Under the Glacier and thus I tend to project this elated feeling upon his other novels and Icelandic literature in general. But the truth is that Laxness's novels are wonderful just the same and I can't praise his writing enough: it is warm, mysterious, poetic, full of humor, but also with an undercurrent of sadness. He makes me experience a sort of happiness.I'll share with you what I've learnt about Iceland while reading The Fish Can Sing:1. The Hidden People (Huldufólk), a sort of elves in Icelandic folklore, but not quite. They are believed to live under rocks, so many Icelanders try not to disturb the environment when building their houses. Also, they refrain from throwing stones, for fear they might hit the Huldufólk. Icelandic gardens often feature tiny wooden houses for hidden people to live in. Some people claim to be able to see and interact with Huldufólk and almost everybody has a story to tell. I find this heart-warming, even if the Hidden People are blamed for every object that gets lost.A wonderful illustration by John Bauer (1882–1918), a less-known Swedish painter.2. The interesting Icelandic national costume. There are several types of folk costumes in Iceland, some that were designed by the artist Sigurður Guðmundsson in the 19th century. I found it strange that such an outfit could be designed, but it turns out that this practice is quite common - it also happened with the Swedish National Costume, the Amalia Costume of Greece or the Nestor Costume of the Canary Islands. I don't want to post too many pictures here, so I've chosen my favorite traditional costume from Iceland, popular in the 18th century:The large white headpiece that curves forward is called krókfaldur (I find it fascinating)3. The Great Icelanders praised in sagas and rímur, one of which was Pastor Snorri of Húsafell, a Latin erudite immensely quick at composing verses, a powerfully built and strong man, so good at Icelandic wrestling that it is believed that for more than fifty years there was no clergyman in the whole synod who could stand up against him (you have to admire the subtle humor here). To this day there remains the legendary Husafell Stone, used by the Pastor as a door to his sheep pen. The stone weighs 190 kg and is popular even today as a test of strength. It is said that a man has acquired "full strength" if he can lift the stone up and carry it the 50 meters around the perimeter of the goat pen. I hope these guys managed to prove their strength
Reykjavik início séc. XXHalldór Laxness (1902 – 1998) é o mais famoso escritor islandês, laureado com o Prémio Nobel da Literatura em 1955.Álfgrímur, o narrador de “Os Peixes Também Sabem Cantar”, foi um bebé abandonado pela sua mãe, uma jovem rapariga que partiu para a América, que acaba adoptado pelo pescador Björn de Brekkukot e pela sua mulher, um casal de idosos, um avô e uma avó, que vivem numa pobre casa tradicional, com o telhado de erva/relva/turfa, um refúgio que alberga no seu sótão um grupo de personagens peculiares e excêntricas – o reformado capitão naval Hogensen, o superintendente de Reykjavik e filósofo Jón de Skaggi e o homem que espalha estrume na cidade Runólfur Jónsson – três habitantes permanentes a que se juntam outros de passagem, com histórias dramáticas de doença e morte. A idílica infância de Álfgrímur - que pretende “apenas” ser pescador de peixes-lapas, tal como o seu “avô” Björn de Brekkukot, que tem uma peculiar e original relação com o dinheiro ”… completamente diferente da dos valores bancários normais.” (Pág. 22) e com o preço de venda do peixe, mantendo sempre o mesmo valor, não enquadrado com a lei económica da oferta e da procura, considerando que: ”o preço certo para um peixe-lapa, por exemplo, seria aquele que impedisse um pescador de acumular mais dinheiro do que aquele que necessitasse para viver.” (Pág. 23) – é interrompida pelo início da escola…”Até àquele dia, o Mundo em que eu vivia tinha-me parecido suficiente para os meus desejos, de tal maneira que eu nunca tinha ambicionado outro. Eu tinha tudo. Aos meus olhos, tudo no Mundo era, à sua maneira, perfeito e completo.” (Pág. 147)E eis que surge Garðar Holm, um famoso cantor lírico islandês, um homem misterioso e enigmático, um “parente” de Álfgrímur, ora presente ora ausente; e o dia em que ouve o som da “Nota Pura”. Mas nem tudo o que parece é… Halldór Laxness escreve um excelente romance – sem a intensidade dramática de ”Gente Independente” e sem a qualidade da reconstituição histórica de ”O Sino da Islândia” - um retrato intimista de uma família, na pequena cidade de Reykjavik, Islândia, no início do séc. XX, numa narrativa reflexiva e perspicaz de Álfgrímur, desde a infância até à idade adulta, com descrições inesquecíveis de uma pequena comunidade rural e piscatória, numa luta pela subsistência, sempre de uma forma pacífica e harmoniosa, com uma escrita primorosa, com recurso a quarenta e um capítulos, curtos, sempre com um título temático, com notáveis descrições dos cenários envolventes, bem estruturado, com muita emoção e ironia, conjugando de uma forma surpreendente a tradição e a modernidade, a lealdade e a traição, a pobreza e a riqueza, a obscuridade e a celebridade. ”Os Peixes Também Sabem Cantar” pode ser uma excelente primeira abordagem à obra do premiado escritor islandês Halldór Laxness.Casa tradicional com telhado de erva/relva/turfa - Islândia ”Para falarmos na nossa casa acerca de fazer “caridade”, usávamos a expressão “ter bom coração”, e uma pessoa caridosa, como se diz numa linguagem espiritual, era simplesmente uma pessoa com “bom coração” ou ”boa”. A palavra ”amor” também nunca se ouvia na nossa casa, excepto se algum bêbado ou uma criada solteira particularmente estúpida vinda do campo se lembrasse de criar alguns versos de um poeta moderno qualquer; e, ainda por cima, o vocabulário desses poemas era de tal maneira indecente que se acontecesse ouvi-los, desciam-nos arrepios gelados pela espinha abaixo, e o meu avô sentar-se-ia sobre as mãos, por vezes inclusivamente lá fora, no muro do jardim, fazendo caretas, encolhendo os ombros e contorcendo-se como se tivesse piolhos, e diria: ”Toc, toc!” e ”Francamente!”. Globalmente, a poesia moderna tinha em nós o mesmo efeito da lona a ser raspada.” (Pág. 68)”A curiosidade pode ser uma virtude ou um vício, dependendo do tipo de ética elementar que se defenda.” (Pág. 111) ”- Sussurrar os segredos das pessoas ao vento é considerado insensato. (Pág. 307)”Finalmente, agora conseguia compreender as pessoas que recorriam ao suicídio para roubar a iniciativa à morte. (Pág. 319)
What do You think about The Fish Can Sing (2001)?
I want to re-read this book already. I read it in Iceland, continuing my vow to read only local authors when I travel the world. Sitting on top of an Icelandic mountain, surrounded by sheep covered in that famous wool, looking out over the ocean, and reading this superb little book of stories, was just about the happiest I have ever been. He is beyond comparison, but Laxness can perhaps be likened to Hemingway, if Hemingway liked people. Laxness loves them. He loves the lessons they teach each other, he loves the way they act when a beautiful girl walks in ("all the light in the room arranged itself in one point"), he loves the subtle ways they grow up. This is folk writing at its best; Alfgrim, the main character, is taught lessons by his adoptive grandparents in such a way that we readers learn them at the same time, without the lens of an omniscient narrator. Alfgrim calls it like he sees it, and suddenly we´ve learned how grandmother feels about singing songs to the dog. (Not good. Dogs are beasts and deserve no songs. Sing to the cows, they do good work.) This book does not announce its novelty, much like "Gilead." But because it´s Iceland, land of sagas, even the cows are epic to me. Maybe especially the cows.
—Katie
I've been wanting to read "Independent People" for ages, but this title was much more appealing so I read this instead. It was harder to read than I expected, some bits were delightful, other times I wasn't sure what Laxness was getting at - I'm not sure if this is a translation thing or simply his style. He can be clear as a bell, and then obfuscate to the point that I want to quit. It's odd, too, leafing through the book after I finished it I saw little moments here and there that glinted at me. Almost like finding a crystal in the dirt, a flash of colour that made me catch my breath. I couldn't seem to make out the shape of the thing while I was reading it, though, and that frustrated me. I don't know what it is about this book. (Throughout the entire reading of it I had this sense of lying back in long waving grass, looking up at a cloudless blue sky, and smelling the ocean. I had the same thing while reading "Country of the Pointed Firs" by Sara Orne Jewett. The books are nothing alike. It may have to do with the setting - both are islands.) I do think it is more about the influence of environment on people than it first appears.Look at this - the turf huts they lived in!
—Sylvester
The short chapters in this novel read a bit like fables, describing the quirky customs and folkways of life in Brekkukot, a little turf cottage on the edge of a lake in Reykjavík. We follow the life lessons of Álfgrímur, the narrator, who is charming and disarming in his candor. There’s a delightful funny story about learning to read at Brekkukot, where words are sparse but precious, and the poetry of the rímur is the fabric of everyday life. Laxness writes with humour and compassion about witty, silly characters, rife with unconventional wisdom. A leitmotif in the book is the homecoming of Garðar Hólm, Iceland’s world famous opera singer, a star who never seems to sing. Álfgrímur’s dearest wish is to hear Garðar sing der Erlkönig..
—Rachel Aloise
