Tonight’s post is probably of limited interest, but I’m between books again. I found this drone video of Hodnefjell farm on the island of Mosterøy, (not to be confused with Moster on Bomlø, where St. Olaf instituted Christian law in Norway) a place where some of my ancestors on my dad’s side lived. These were the most historically significant ancestors I’ve heard about. I’m sure I’ve written about this before.
According to Sigve Bø, my guide last year, the Hodnefjell family (if I remember correctly) had converted to Moravianism in the early 19th Century, a serious matter in state church Norway. But they heard about the lay evangelist Hans Nielsen Hauge and wrote to him, inviting him to visit them. He came and stayed with them on their farm. They were so impressed with his teaching that they converted back to Lutheranism and became “friends of Hauge.”
They had a neighbor named John Haugvaldstad who also became a Haugean. He disliked farming and left for Stavanger (leaving his incompatible wife, who’d never much liked him either. They lived separate lives but never divorced). There he became a successful businessman and the de facto leader of the Haugeans after Hauge’s imprisonment.
The Haugean circle in Stavanger had much to do with arranging the first organized party of emigrants to leave Norway for America. This group sailed in 1825 on the sloop “Restaurasjon.” The party was made up of Quakers and Haugeans, all looking for greater religious freedom in the US.
Ack. I’m only about 60% done with The Book That Never Ends (for review, not one I’m writing), and I’ve got lots of translating work to do, so what shall I post? Hm. It’s May now, which means that Syttende Mai (May 17), Norway’s Constitution Day, is coming up. Find some music about that. Anything from Sissel I haven’t seen?
Well, what do you know? Here’s Sissel singing Edvard Grieg’s “Våren,” (Last Spring). It seems to have been filmed 10 years ago for a Constitution Day celebration at Eidsvoll. That’s significant because Eidsvoll is a Norwegian national monument – the place where an assembly of delegates drafted and passed the country’s constitution in 1814. Which is what the holiday is all about.
Spring finally seems to have come to Minneapolis, and I’m enjoying it when I have time to pay attention. (I much prefer that to having no time because I’m out of work.) Spring’s been late in coming, but that makes it all the more enjoyable. I earned this spring, blast it!
Okay, I’ll just start this semi-review by mentioning (in case you’re new here) that I have a dysfunctional relationship with the genre called “Nordic Noir.” Much as I love Norway, I find myself unable to get in the spirit of the boom in Scandinavian mysteries that persists today. I find Nordic Noir – in general – depressing and nihilistic. I’ve tried to enjoy Jo Nesbø’s Harry Hole mysteries, but I have trouble sympathizing with – or even believing in – a police detective who’s so desperately alcoholic that it interferes with his work, and who yet manages to keep his job and even be an asset to his department.
But I checked out the 2017 film adaptation of the Harry Hole book The Snowman on Amazon Prime. It’s not a film I did translation for (indeed, it’s not even a Norwegian production, but Swedish along with other countries), so I can say what I like about it.
I gave the novel a less than negative review (for a Nordic Noir) here. I guess I feel pretty much the same about the movie. Which seems to mean I liked it better than most people.
How very odd.
Michael Fassbender plays the role of Harry, whom we first observe, after a prologue, sleeping off a binge in a bus shelter in mid-winter. When he gets to work he meets a new partner, Katrine Bratt (Rebecca Ferguson), whom he finds annoyingly fresh and spunky. They investigate the disappearance of a young mother. Over time they discover that there have been a string of such disappearances, in different places over a long period of time. When the bodies are discovered, they are decapitated, the heads placed on snowmen. Harry’s difficult relationship with his ex-girlfriend’s son, who sees him as a father figure, provides a subplot that will eventually merge with the main plot.
The best part of the movie – as is often the case when they’re filming in Norway – is the scenery. There’s some spectacular footage here, especially as characters drive along the causeways of the famous Atlantic Road. J.K. Simmons, who always elevates any production, is on hand as a sleazy businessman/politician, an easy character for good Socialists to hate.
I can also see the problems in the film. One is a very dark plot, including one particularly awful surprise. Another is the odd presence of Val Kilmer, playing a now-dead character in flashbacks. He looks barely functional, and indeed was recovering from a stroke during filming. All his dialogue is dubbed but still hard to understand.
My big problem was a fairly heavy-handed message about abortion.
Still, I found the movie watchable, and it kept my interest.
Semi-recommended, but with cautions (language, sexual situations, brief nudity, disturbing violence) and without great enthusiasm.
Avaldsnes Church on Karmoy island. Picture by me June, 2022.
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking this blog hasn’t been providing enough Viking News lately. Why would anyone come to a book blog, except to read about Viking News? Sure, I’ve given you a few saga reviews in recent weeks, but what you want (I have no doubt) is the kind of breaking, “you read it here first” information for which my name is, perhaps not renowned, but definitely -nowned.
Well, I’ve got one today. Not only is it a major archaeological story, but there’s a personal connection to me – which makes all the difference, I know.
The story was announced yesterday, but I waited till an English version appeared today to share it. Because I hate translating for free.
Just over a hundred years ago, the archaeologist Haakon Shetelig was incredibly disappointed when he did not find a Viking ship during an excavation of the Salhushaugen gravemound in Karmøy in Western Norway.
Shetelig had previously excavated a rich Viking ship grave just nearby, where Grønhaugskipet was found, as well as excavated the famous Oseberg ship – the world’s largest and most well-preserved surviving Viking ship – in 1904. At Salshaugen he only found 15 wooden spades and some arrowheads.
“He was incredibly disappointed, and nothing more was done with this mound,” says Håkon Reiersen, an archaeologist at the Museum of Archaeology at the University of Stavanger.
It turns out, however, that Shetelig simply did not dig deep enough.
About a year ago, in June 2022, archaeologists decided to search the area using ground-penetrating radar or georadar – a device that uses radio waves to map out what lies below the surface of the ground.
Now if you’ve been following this blog, you know that I have a personal connection to Karmøy island. My great-grandfather Walker was born there (under another last name, naturally), and baptized at Avaldsnes Church (pictured above). The three mounds described in this article are a short distance north of the church, and I don’t believe I’ve actually ever seen them.
Still, I was at Avaldsnes last June, precisely when they were doing the georadar surveys. That pleases me immensely. I was On the Scene – if clueless as usual.
Another film project on which I worked as a script translator is now available in the US. War Sailor, a Norwegian film released last year (the most expensive movie ever made in Norway, I’m informed), has been expanded into a three-part miniseries for Netflix. I binged it last night and wish to recommend it to you.
After an opening set in Singapore after World War II, we go back to 1939 and observe our two main characters, Alfred (“Freddie”) and Sigbjørn (“Wally”). Freddie is a hard-working family man in Bergen, and Wally is his bachelor friend. Jobs are hard to find, and Wally encourages Freddie to join him in signing on to a merchant ship. Freddie’s wife Cecilia is concerned about the danger, as the war is going on, but Wally reassures her that they’re only going to New York. As both Norway and the US are neutral there’s minimal danger, he reasons. Anyway, he promises to keep Freddie safe.
By the time they reach New York, Germany has invaded and Norway is at war. The Norwegian government has nationalized the country’s merchant shipping (one of their major industries) and put it all at the disposal of the allies for carrying war munitions and supplies. The sailors are suddenly de facto members of the Navy (albeit unarmed), without the privilege of resigning.
What follows is a season in Hell. German U-boats are taking a desperate toll on the Norwegian ships (fully half of them were sunk over the course of the war) and casualties are high. Freddie takes an underaged sailor under his wing as a sort of surrogate son, and gives up a chance to escape from the service in order to protect the young man. When their ship is torpedoed, Freddie and Wally find themselves sharing a raft with a dying man and a madman.
Meanwhile, Freddie’s family at home is struggling to make ends meet, is worried sick about him, and is facing dangers of their own from Allied bombers. It all culminates in one of those bureaucratic snafus that start in mixed signals and end in ravaged lives.
It’s tempting to call the story a tragedy, but in fact it’s better described as aggravated irony. In the world of this war, virtue is never rewarded, and no good deed goes unpunished.
Brilliantly filmed, directed, and acted, War Sailor is not light entertainment. Be prepared for strong language, horrific violence, and dark themes. Not for the kids, but well worth watching for adults.
I’m reading a very long book right now, and so it’ll be a while yet before I have a review ready. Instead I share the picture above.
This photo was taken way back in the last century, in June of 1994. That young, thin, dark-bearded figure on the ship’s bridge is your obedient servant. The ship is the Fram, the arctic exploration vessel designed for Fridtjof Nansen and later used by Roald Amundsen as well. It’s in a museum all its own in Oslo, not far from the Viking Ship Museum. When I reviewed Nansen’s book Farthest North in January, almost a year ago, I vaguely remembered having this picture, and looked around for it. Couldn’t find it. Today I happened to open a photo album in the basement, and there it was. So I share it with you now, to your wonder and amazement, I have no doubt.
“Fram” means “forward.” It’s Norway’s traditional motto, based on the reported war cry of St. Olaf’s men at the battle of Stiklestad: “Forward, forward, Christ-men, cross-men, king’s men!”
This was my first trip to Norway, and I took it with my dad. My mother had died recently, and Dad proposed that we go together. “I’ll pay for the travel; you cover the rest of your own costs,” he said. Couldn’t say no to that. That was when I first met my relatives over there. It was the first of five delightful journeys.
I’m still not making much progress on the book I’m reading, so I have another non-review post tonight.
The video above is just a brief introduction to my favorite Norwegian artist, Theodor Kittelsen (1857-1914). Among his famous accomplishments was illustrating Asbjørnsen & Moe’s collection of Norwegian fairy tales, along with Erik Werenskiold. Werenskiold did some excellent work, but I always felt Kittelsen possessed that little extra spark of creative genius. In some ways he was ahead of his time, graphically.
He is generally considered the man who crystalized the Norwegian conception of the troll. As you’ll see in the video.
I have yet another opportunity to recommend to you (assuming you have a Netflix subscription) a Norwegian miniseries on which I did translation work. In actual fact, not much of my own work made it into The Lørenskog Disappearance in its final form – our team worked mainly on treatments and scene outlines (as far as I remember), and a lot of our stuff seems to have gotten cut. But I still think it’s an intriguing series, and I recommend it.
Tom Hagen (his having the same name as Robert Duval’s character in “The Godfather” is purely coincidental) was and is one of the richest men in Norway, an energy tycoon. He and his wife Anne-Elisabeth lived in a modest home in a community east of Oslo. Their security was minimal. On October 31, 2018, he came home from work early, having been unable to reach Anne-Elisabeth by phone. He found her missing, but there was a note on a chair, demanding a ransom through an obscure form of cryptocurrency and warning him not to contact the police.
He did contact the police though, and what followed has often been second-guessed. Worried that the kidnappers were watching the house, they did not send in a forensic team immediately, leaving time for evidence to disappear or be removed. They made a mistake in their text communications with the ransomers. Tom paid the ransom, in spite of the fact that he’d gotten no proof of life from the kidnappers.
Anne-Elisabeth was never seen again.
After time passed with no further breakthroughs, suspicion began to turn toward Tom. It was learned that the marriage had been strained. Anne-Elisabeth had contacted a divorce lawyer, who thought the couple’s prenuptial agreement, heavily weighted toward Tom’s interests, could easily be broken. Tom was arrested, but the case against him was weak. Eleven days later the court ordered his release, and the investigation has stalled ever since.
The Lørenskog Disappearance is a docudrama. Many of the characters are fictionalized. We view the story through the viewpoints of four different groups: The police, the reporters (two episodes), the lawyers, and the informers. This produces a Rashomon kind of story, in which the same people and events are viewed from different perspectives. Particularly interesting are two reporters – a man who may be biased against Tom by his experience as the child of an abusive father, and a woman who may be biased toward him by her experience as the child of a Soviet political prisoner.
I don’t think it’s a secret that The Lørenskog Disappearance does not offer any final solutions. What it does offer is a fascinating examination of how we view the stories we see on the news.
Though the trailer above is dubbed, the version I watched on Netflix was subtitled.
The Hafrsfjord Jubilee in Stavanger. These are some of the many people I did not talk to in Norway.
No book review tonight. I’ve had a sudden onset of translation work, which is a development approved at the highest levels. It had been a while. But it slows down my reading.
So let’s pick up on a subject I left hanging. I wrote a lot here, before I left, about my self-education program to improve my conversational Norwegian. I downloaded an app to listen to Norwegian radio, and watched some Norwegian TV too. How did that go, you ask?
Not very well, to be honest.
During the course of my preparations, I thought I was comprehending the language a little better. That didn’t “translate” (pun unintended) into any actual benefit, in practice. When I faced real human beings in Norway, I found I still couldn’t understand them without several repetitions. And I hate inconveniencing people. Especially when they generally speak English already, and the whole thing could be done more efficiently that way.
Discursive interjection: What is it with language study books and the conversations they give you to memorize? I didn’t resort to any of those during this process, but I often thought back to my time as a student.
A model conversation for the student to memorize goes like this:
Student: “Kan du si meg veien til stasjonen?” [Could you tell me how to get to the station?}
Policeman: “Ja, rett fram til hjørnen, og så til venstre.” [Yes, straight ahead to the corner, then turn left.]
Now we all know what happens in real life:
Student: “Kan du si meg veien til stasjonen?”
Policeman. “Ja, rett fram til hjørnen, og så til venstre.”
Student: “Unnskyld? Vil du si det igjen?” [Excuse me? Could you say that again?]
Policeman: “Rett fram til hjørnen, og så til venstre.”
Student: “Si det igjen, takk?” [Say that again, please?]
Policeman: “You are an American, right?”
Student: “Yeah…”
Policeman: “Just go straight ahead to the corner, take a left and you’re there.”
Student. “Oh. Okay. Uh… takk.”
That’s how it actually works. And that’s how it generally happens in my experience. Carrying out a full conversation, when the other person is an English speaker, is just asking them to spend time being my teacher for free. And I can’t ask that.
Cant. Ask. That. It’s not in me.
However, on a few occasions, I did encounter people whose English was worse than my Norwegian. Then I was able to communicate, with some effort.
And that’s the return I got for my effort. I guess it’s something.
There was a joke I used to make, when I was young and studying Norwegian. I said, “I want to be able to not talk to people in a second language.”
Turns out I spoke prophetically.
I’m pretty sure a normal person would be conversational at this point. I think my real problem is psychological – I’m blocked by my social discomfort.
Still and all, my print-only language skills allow me to make some money in hard times. That’s nothing to nyse [sneeze] at.
June 24: Reporting from Gardermoen Airport in Oslo, where I am spending more of my life than I ever wished. It’s been a long day, and I’m only about half-way through.
I got up, not too early, and Trygve asked me if I wanted to see some more sights before I left. Why not? He took me to various places. We saw the Utne Hotel in Utne (which has no connection to his family, though he is related to the people who built the Ullensvang Hotel).
He took me to a fascinating place I’d never heard of (that I remembered). It’s Agatunet, the only partially preserved medieval klyngtun in Norway (if I remember correctly). A klyngtun was what I described the other day, where all the neighbors on various parcels on a farm lived clustered together in something like a village. One part of the tun’s main building, the Lagmandshus, was bujlt in 1221 according to dendrochronology. It was the home of Sven Bjorgulfsson Aga, a lawspeaker who was mysteriously murdered a little later and found beheaded across the fjord. Never solved. Otherwise, Agatun is a rare surviving klyngtun even without the medieval building.
The dark-colored end of this building is the surviving part of the 13th Century Lawman’s house in Agatunet.Genuine 13th Century wooden wall.Original carvings in the wood.Inside the courtroom.The other side of the building. Less interesting, but the light was better on this side.
We drove up to Voss, stopping for a few more photo opportunities…
Voss, I think.
…and had lunch in Voss. Biffsnirper, an unusual Norwegian dish consisting of shredded tags of beef which you dip in a sauce. Served with French fries and a salad. I quite liked it. Not sure what the sauce was.
Biffsnirper.
Finally we went to the bus station and figured out what I was supposed to do with my suitcase (keep it with me) and where to get on the train. Trygve and I said goodbye. He really delivered a tremendous visit, especially considering how I jerked him around about the dates. It seemed to mean a lot to him that, after 16 years, he’d been able to keep his promise to take me to Svelland farm. It meant a lot to me, too.
The Bergensbanen is considered one of the most beautiful train rides in the world. It takes something over seven hours, and crosses the Hardangervidda plateau and stops at various localities headed for Oslo. I arrived some time after 10:00 p.m.
I’d been told that there were buses to the airport right there, and that I could just ask someone where to find them. In fact, I spent about an hour and a half wandering through the railway station, across the footbridge to the bus station, and back. Almost nobody was working at that hour. I saw no security officers. The people I worked up my nerve to ask knew nothing.
Finally I decided to just take the airport train, which was clearly signed and for which buying a ticket was easy. The track was easy to find too. So that’s how I got to the airport, a little after midnight.
Since then I’ve been vegetating here at the airport. If I had any class I’d have gotten a room at a motel and slept decently, but I nodded in a chair, reading when I couldn’t sleep (which was most of the time). I was waiting for instructions to appear on the big board to tell me where to check in. Finally I stopped checking (didn’t want to lose my seat) and arbitrarily chose 9:00 a.m. as the time I’d check again. The desk number was up by then. I proceeded down to desk 2, where there was a very, very long line doing that switchback, stay-between-the-ropes Disney thing. I assume they were understaffed due to the strike. I got my boarding pass at last, went through security, and got over to the gate side, where I now sit recharging my cell phone and waiting for the time to come to go to the gate. Many challenges lie ahead.
Final note: Challenges indeed. The flight to Reykjavik was packed and uncomfortable. I asked about Lost & Found at the airport, to see if I could get back the Amazon Fire I lost. They told me it had to be done online. The check-in line was long again, but the flight to New York was only about half full, and thus comfortable. At JFK customs took forever, and then security took forever and ever, amen. I ended up missing my connection, spent a night in a cheap hotel in Jamaica, NY, got onto a (delayed) flight to Minneapolis on standby, and finally arrived after 10:00 p.m.
I refuse to think about all that. My trip to Norway was, considered in itself, a wonderful experience and could hardly have gone better. Many thanks to all the friends and family who went to such trouble to make it such a good time for me.
