I continue to yammer to all and sundry about the novel The Last of the Vikings. Today The American Spectator printed a second review by me.
There’s a fascinating section in The Last of the Vikings where the fishermen ask Lars to read to them from A Happy Boy, and they’re all transported by the story: “It had never struck them before that a house and land can be so beautiful despite their being small. They did not know that poor people could have so much sunshine.”
And then another fisherman comes in carrying a radical newspaper called the Dawn. He’s been bringing copies in periodically for Lars to read aloud, and they’ve all enjoyed reviling the greedy capitalists. But now the fishermen’s attitude has changed. They tell the agitator, to his shock, to get out and take his paper with him…
They worked in the herring fisheries in the autumn, and in the winter sailed hundreds of miles in open boats up to Lofoten, perhaps tempted by the hope of gain, but perhaps too because on the sea they were free men.
More than once over the years on this blog I’ve mentioned Johan Bojer’s novel, The Last of the Vikings, which I read in Norwegian (Nynorsk). I even translated a section and posted it once (though I can’t find it now), because I dearly wished to share this book with others, but the English translation was out of print.
I’m delighted to report that this has changed. You can now get The Last of the Vikings in translation for Kindle.
First of all, I must inform you that this book isn’t about Vikings. It’s about the cod fishery in Lofoten sometime around the turn of the 20th Century, when steam was beginning to replace sail. If you see a picture of one of the old Nordland boats, the kind used in this book, you’ll think for a moment that it’s a picture of a Viking ship. That’s because the Nordland boats were descended from Viking boats through unbroken evolution over centuries.
Kristàver Myran is a small farmer (although the text doesn’t say it, his home is in the Trondheim area, where author Bojer grew up). Every winter, like most of the able-bodied men of his neighborhood, he makes the long sail up to Lofoten to participate in the cod fishing, gambling that he can make enough money to get ahead a little in the world. But this year he has great hopes, because he finally has his own boat (purchased on credit). He wondered why the boat was going for such a low price, but only learned after the sale that it’s jinxed. Over the last three winters it has capsized every year. Well, nothing can be done about that now.
Coming along for the first time is his son Lars, proud to be a Lofoten man at last. Lars idolizes his father and dreams of following in his footsteps, but also likes to read and has educational aspirations. He is the main point-of-view character in the book.
Other crew members include Elezeus, Kristàver’s brother-in-law, an abusive, self-loathing husband. And Kaneles (Cornelius), a fun-loving bachelor who’s the sole support of his young sister and blind father. And Arnt, another first-year man, a bad sailor terrified of the sea.
Another skipper from the neighborhood is old Jacob, a limping, black-bearded, drunken, cheerful force of nature. A man with no family and no home on land, who knows nothing but the sea, but knows it like no other.
The men will face many challenges over the winter. They’ll face conflicts with other crews over tangled nets and regional rivalries in drinking shops. They’ll face long hours rowing, and days and nights without sleep when the shoals of fish come in, and boredom when they don’t. They’ll face daunting competition from the new steam-powered boats, along with the arrogance of the authorities. But most of all they’ll face the weather, the killing storms of the arctic sea. They will look in the face of death itself.
I’ve rarely read a book that affected me more than this one. I don’t think it’s just because some of my ancestors must have been involved in this fishery. This is the story of all the poor men over the centuries who’ve taken the poor man’s gamble – risk your very life in the hopes of making a better future for your family, even at the risk of leaving them without a provider. I cared deeply about these characters, and mourned and rejoiced with them.
I have to say I don’t consider the translation first rate. It’s over-literal, in my opinion, which makes the dialogue, in particular, sometimes awkward. But the scenery descriptions were vivid, and the storm sequences sublime.
The Last of the Vikings gets my highest recommendation. It’s unforgettable.
