When I reviewed Troll Valley after its first release as an e-book, I said it was an entertaining story about what we can and cannot control. A young man grows up with a deformed arm and a fairy godmother who doesn’t stand around granting wishes with a smile. It’s a little dark and not at all shmaltzy. It’s my favorite of Lars’s novels.
Troll Valley is now in audio, narrated by the author himself. You can get it with an Audible subscription or purchase it for your digital library. In honor of that technological accomplishment, we’re running a promotion. It’s a favor to you really. We’re doing you a solid.
Review one of Lars’s novels on Amazon or Goodreads, send us proof of that review, and we’ll send you another e-book of your choice. It has to be a new review. If you posted a review earlier this month or last month, we’ll accept that too. Just share a link in the comments of this post and we can email you another of Lars’s e-books to enjoy (and review, of course, like, please).
For example, you could post a review of Hailstone Mountain, and we could send you the e-book for The Elder King. Let us know which e-book you would like when you post your review in the comments.
Buy the books via any of our affiliate links. You don’t have to have bought the novel recently. It could be the one in your TBR pile. Only the review has to be new.
Post your review by Jan. 7, 2026 to get a free e-book in exchange, and let us know what you think of the new Troll Valley audiobook when you a chance to listen.
No book review tonight. Instead, a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
Or to put it another way, whatever comes into my head.
I read a good article about the semicolon today in Writer’s Digest. The author courageously defended the old s-c, and I applaud him. I myself love the semicolon. Aside from its delightful precision as a punctuation mark, when wielded skillfully, I have a happy memory of it.
The memory is fuzzy, but I’m pretty sure it’s true. I was writing some kind of an essay or report in school – elementary school, I think. The “new” pale brick building on the south side of town.
I was composing, as I recall, some kind of a complex sentence. I had a complicated thought I was trying to express. I wanted to tie it all together, but it had a lot of working parts going, some of them more important than others. “What I need,” I thought to myself, “is a punctuation mark that indicates a major division in in my train of thought, but also retains a connection to the previous thought.” (Or words to that effect.)
And it occurred to me – “Hey! That’s what semicolons are for!” And I triumphantly put down a semicolon, intentionally for the first time in my life. The semicolon belonged to me now. I was its master. I had summoned it; it had not been forced on me by my teacher.
It was a moment in my evolution as a writer, though I didn’t understand it yet.
Jumping to the present, I haven’t been feeling well lately. My plan was to be doing a lot of stuff to promote the audiobook of Troll Valley right now, but I haven’t been up to the effort.
I’m embarrassed to say it’s just a cold. I see friends on Basefook and Xwitter talking about their mothers dying, or themselves being diagnosed with cancer or breaking a limb or something. And here I am, bellyaching about a common cold. So let me stipulate that I’m not competing for your sympathy. If you have only compassion enough to spare for one person today, it shouldn’t be me.
But I haven’t had a cold in years. I used to get them regularly, when I ran the bookstore at the schools. All that human contact – couldn’t avoid it. And for a while there, it seemed like every time I got that annual cold, it would settle into my chest and in the end require antibiotics.
But I don’t think I’ve had a serious cold since I retired, which is a few years now. And this one has knocked me over. Sunday was the worst day – I spent it mostly in bed, and didn’t even make popcorn for supper, which is my sacred Sunday custom. Since then I’ve been feeling a little better each day, and right now I’m actually eyeing my work load again.
I was delighted to discover I have an old stock of zinc tablets that I’d forgotten about, on a shelf. Hate the aftertaste, but they seem to help. And my ribs don’t hurt as much from coughing today.
To sum up – buy the audiobook of Troll Valley. My Norwegian accent alone is worth the price.
(And you can admire the cover – designed by Phil Wade – in both versions! Collect the whole set!)
HOT TIP: Hurry out and buy paper manufacturing stocks now! Because my acclaimed novel, Troll Valley, was released today in paperback, and surely those presses will be running till their gears smoke, turning out copies for a hungry public.
[NOTE: This is the paperback version I’m talking about. The audiobook, about which I’ve written so much, is still in the pipeline. The instructions at Amazon ACX say the approval process may take as long as ten days – but a look around in online forums tells me six weeks isn’t uncommon, and it can take months. So your patience is appreciated.]
I’m planning to accompany the audiobook release, if I’m still alive when it happens, with a five-minute video short, to promote it. I’m intrigued by these short videos I see all over (on Facebook and YouTube; I do not visit Tiktok). Just as I taught myself book recording on Audible, I’m now teaching myself video editing. The result, when I have accomplished it, will be posted here.
In personal news, I got word of a recent death that made me thoughtful. It was that of a man who had been one of my schoolteachers. He never liked me, and at one point he singled me out for a humiliating punishment, in front of my classmates.
I forgave him, formally in my heart, years ago. As a matter of spiritual obligation. But I couldn’t help recalling one of C. S. Lewis’ letters (or it might have been a journal entry, but I think it was a letter, perhaps to his brother). He wrote it as a young man, recalling the sadistic, insane headmaster he had endured at one of the boarding schools he attended as a boy. But now he was a young man, and enjoying life and freedom, while his old tormenter was long dead “and in hell.” (This, I should mention, was before his conversion). I must admit that I had anticipated this teacher’s death with… what shall I call it? Interest. But he lived quite a long life. I may not outlast him by much.
Loni Anderson died too. She was a native of St. Paul, and a lot of people around here (not me, I must admit) remembered some local commercials she did here (as a brunette) before she upped stakes for Hollywood.
Like most people, I remember her best for the brilliant comedy series, “WKRP In Cincinnati.” I remember my astonishment as I found myself increasingly drawn to her as the series went on. I was always a firm Jan Smithers supporter – her character, Bailey Quarters, was the girl of my dreams – drop dead gorgeous, but so insecure I could imagine her going out with a dork like me. But Anderson’s brainy glamor grew on me, in spite of myself.
I’m already on record as being in favor of commercialized glamor. Loni Anderson carried it off well. R.I.P.
(By the way, do kids today realize that “underwhelming” wasn’t always a word? I first saw it used in the Pogo comic strip, back in the 1960s, I think. It was funny because “overwhelming” had never (that I know of) been paired with “underwhelming” before. “Overwhelming” was one of those words that had no commonly used obverse form, just as we still never talk about anyone being “gruntled.”)
What I mean to say is, I finished recording my novel, Troll Valley, this morning. To mark the occasion, I decided to film myself “in studio,” for the benefit of future literary historians.
I apologize for the quality of the video. The old HP laptop I use for recording doesn’t have much of a camera.
But you’ll note that the sound is good. That’s the quality of sound you’ll be getting with my fully artisanal audiobook.
I need to give the whole thing a listen-through again, though, just to be sure it’s right. I should be able to do at least two chapters of that a day, so it ought to take a couple weeks.
Then, it will take as long as it takes for me to jump through the hoops of converting files for Audible, and uploading. (Phil has already modified the book cover for me, for which I’m most grateful.)
Finished reading Chapter 19 of Troll Valley today for the audiobook iteration. Chapter 19 was a bear. It took three days (one-hour sessions) to record, edit, and master the whole thing. I was a little fuzzy on the concept of chapter length back when I wrote the book, and I let that one get out the barn door and off across the pastures into the corn. I start it with Chris, our hero, in the fictional town of Tuscany, Colorado, getting a visit from his brother Fred. Then Fred takes him to the ghost town where their father has settled down for a hermit’s life, and they have quite a lengthy reunion, getting to know each other better than they ever did back home in Minnesota, and revealing some secrets. Then Fred, who’s now an outlaw, has a confrontation with a lawman, after which he must go on the run again. Then Chris says goodbye to his father, has a couple supernatural experiences that change his personality, and gets in a fight in a brothel, in which he is injured. After recovering from his wounds, he heads home to Epsom.
If I were writing it today, I’d make that at least two chapters. Possibly three. But in spite of that, I have to admit that – contrary to my expectations – I think Troll Valley isn’t a bad book at all. I was pretty young when I wrote it, and I’m sure I’m a better artist now, but it’s still a good book. There’s stuff in there I’d completely forgotten about, and it mostly works. If somebody else had written it, and I were reading it for review, I think I’d recommend it.
At one point, when the Anderson boys are gathered with their father, they sing the song posted above, a Norwegian folk song called Dalebu Jonsson. It’s about a man who kidnaps a princess, then singlehandedly fights off 7,000 warriors her father sends to rescue her. Finally the king is so impressed that he agrees to let him marry her – “You can have little Kjersti; you are worthy of her.” (Or words to that effect.)
I know the song from a recording by a male Norwegian group called “Vandrerne,” which no longer exists. They did it in a very rousing style, sort of like an Irish drinking song in spirit. When I got to the part of the text where I include the first verse, in Norwegian, my full intention was to just read the words straight. But as I was reading, I found myself sliding into music, so I ended up singing it. I translated that verse, “Oh, Dalebu’s love was a beautiful maid; he won her with steel and sharp iron blade.” (Which I think is a jolly translation; not literal, but it nails the spirit of the thing.)
The arrangement embedded above is nothing at all like the song as I know it, but I couldn’t find a better one and I thought somebody might be interested.
In my ongoing project of audiobooking Troll Valley this morning (I’m about 80% through it now), I came on a mention of a spittoon, and it got me thinking…
But first, let me tell you about my day job. I’ve already declared that I won’t describe exactly what I’m doing (temporarily), but let me speak in general terms.
Imagine you’re a teacher. In Middle School, say. (The horror! The horror!)
And imagine you’re grading English essays. (I suppose some of you may have experienced this trauma in real life.)
And imagine (implausible as it may sound) that those essays aren’t very good. That the same mistakes are made over and over. You’re not even getting original mistakes.
And imagine the pile of essays is about ten feet high. And it never seems to diminish.
That’s what my temporary, online job is like.
Thank you. Now that’s off my chest.
So, there was a brief appearance by a spittoon in today’s chapter of Troll Valley. And that reminded me of something.
A while back, a pastor I know, who at one time served my home congregation, asked me, “Do you remember anything about spittoons in the back of Hauge Church? Somebody told me they used to have spittoons back there. The ladies let them have them, just in that section, but the men who used them had to clean them out themselves.”
And it seemed to ring a bell (no doubt a brass bell). This would be part of my very earliest memories – and with memories that old, I’ve learned that I’m highly suggestible. So I’m not at all sure here. But I have an idea I may have seen the spittoons back there, in the rear alcove of our church, next to the entryway, where my family always sat when I was little. There were warm air registers in the floor, I’m pretty sure, and I think I recall a spittoon sitting on top of one. I may have asked about it when they disappeared, too.
Or maybe not.
We Haugean Lutherans had a weird (I was tempted to say “fraught,” but I hate the way people use that word these days) relationship with tobacco in the old days. I remember discussing sin with my saintly grandmother one day, confidently asserting that drinking and smoking were both sins, but drinking was worse.
A pastor I knew years ago always used to link Haugeans to cigars. Somebody had told him that all the Haugeans back home had smoked big cigars, and that was all he knew about us, or cared to know. (I suppose it had something to do with the prosperity of some of the Haugean merchants back in Norway.)
Dad recalled how his grandfather was forced, by the two unmarried daughters who kept house for him in his old age, to always go out on the porch to smoke his pipe. (I incorporated this into Troll Valley.) Dad felt that was demeaning to the old man.
I saw a short video recently – think it was by Rory Sutherland – in which he was asked what secret, heretical views he held. And he said he thought tobacco was good for you, and will make a social comeback in time.
I’d almost welcome it. I know, there are lots of people who find the smell revolting, and some even get sick from it.
But I grew up in a world of ubiquitous tobacco smoke. I always kind of liked the smell, myself.
And it is an appetite suppressant. We were all a lot thinner back when we were lighting up rather than munching on chips all the time.
I think my rooting in secret for tobacco, though, mostly rises from my instinctive dislike for everything that’s fashionable.
Tonight, for no good reason I can think of, I intend to tell you about the process of book narration recording. Is this of interest to anyone at all? I have no idea. Being dull has never stopped me before.
The first step, of course, is to set up my little makeshift studio in my closet doorway, facing out. The hanging clothes are at my back, so very little sound gets reflected from that side, and my mike is set to record only from the front. So unless a truck downshifts in the street out front, there’s probably not much noise to interfere with the ethereal music of my voice.
I have a little desk, and on it set my laptop (with the Audacity recording app opened), and my Kindle (convenient for reading from; no pages to turn). In front of me hangs my microphone on its boom, and attached to the microphone are my headphones. I also keep an insulated cup of green tea close by for refreshment and throat lubrication.
The Audacity app is free, but surprisingly sophisticated. (I wonder how they support themselves.) It shows you a screen, and as you begin recording, a graphic of the sound pattern appears in a ribbon running from left to right.
Of course, the reading never goes smoothly. You flub a word. You add a word that’s not there. You burp. Such problems must be dealt with in some manner.
There are two different ways of dealing with a reading mistake. Some narrators swear by the continuous method – you just clap your hands or click a clicker, leaving a very noticeable spike in the sound graphic, and then re-read the piece you got wrong and carry on. Later, in the editing stage, you will delete the bad stuff, and all that’s left is the good stuff, and Bob’s your uncle.
I don’t use that method, though. I use what they call “punch and roll.” There’s a built-in trick in Audacity, where you can stop the recording, click on a spot just before your mistake, hit the proper keystroke combination, and the software automatically starts playing back through your earphones about five seconds previous to the spot you clicked. You listen and along and then jump right in at the spot you marked, recording the right words (you hope), then proceed from there. Terrifying to learn (for me), but pretty slick once you get the hang of it.
Proponents of the continuous method claim that punch and roll takes you out of the rhythm and the spirit of the thing. But that’s not my experience. I can maintain my rhythm and spirit just fine.
Anyway, you keep on this way until you finish reading the chapter. Each chapter gets its own separate file.
Then comes the editing phase (for me, that usually ends up happening the following day). You go back to the beginning and listen to your work through the headphones, following along with the text in the book. More often than you expect, you find you’ve read something wrong and weren’t aware of it. In my case, getting caught up in the spirit of the moment is usually the cause.) Or maybe you made a mouth click, or breathed heavily. Such things must be cleaned up, and Audacity has ways of doing that, electronic forms of cutting and pasting.
Finally, there’s mastering. Another cause for fear and trembling, before I got comfortable with it. There’s a downloadable plug-in called ACX Check that tests your recording for three parameters: Peak volume, Volume floor, and RMS. Peak and floor are pretty self-explanatory. RMS will be explained below. Amazon Audible wants consistency in the products it publishes. So ACX Check predictably launches you on a moderately challenging series of corrections, and corrections of corrections.
Historically, the first ACX Check tells me that my Peak volume is too high. So I run the whole thing through a utility called Normalization. This utility sort of averages the highs and lows all through. Once that’s done, I run the ACX Check again, and the Peak volume will be fine. But (almost always) the RMS is now too low. (RMS is a sort of average of all the peaks and troughs. I can never remember what all the initials stand for, but the M is for “mean.”) So then I have to run the Amplify utility (there’s a formula for how to set that), and I get the RMS all tidy again. But now the Peak volume is once again too high, every single time. So (with a little prayer and fasting) I run a utility called Limiter, and in most cases all the numbers are now okay.
At that point, at least technically, the recording is acceptable for Amazon Audible. No doubt there are subjective criteria that could still disqualify the file, but from a robot’s point of view, that’s how it works.
I finished Chapter V of Troll Valley today. 20% done.
[Addendum: One hour later: On thinking it over, I realize the sequence of operations is incorrect. But I’m too tired to fix it.]
I’m going to bore you again tonight with another update on my audiobook exertions. Today’s session was okay, but yesterday’s was remarkable. I talked about it on Basefook, but I feel like expanding on the subject here, and I’m between books to review.
What happened yesterday was that I was working on Chapter 3 of Troll Valley. Since I’m sure you’re familiar with that classic work of the imagination, you’ll surely remember how Miss Margit, the fairy godmother, tells Chris the story of The Twelve Wild Ducks.
What I realized as I was reading was that I was having a good time. It was fun.
I don’t have a lot of fun anymore (never did, to be honest). But one of the things I’ve always enjoyed most – and gotten least opportunity to do – is acting. The peculiar convolutions of my psychology have made me one of those natural actors who are naturally shy (there are more of them than you may think. Henry Fonda was terribly shy. Audrey Hepburn was too, and Meryl Streep is, according to a quick internet search). Some of them had (or have) stage fright too, something I have mercifully been spared.
But still, audiobooks may be just the medium for me. I can do them all by myself, and act my little heart out. The Twelve Wild Ducks gave me an opportunity to do both my Scandinavian accent (which is pretty good, I think) and my English accent (passable, at least in small portions).
Anyway, I had a ball yesterday.
And I thought about how I’ve wrestled with this project. Dealing with my crippling fear of the recording software. Working at it doggedly, a little each day, as much as my insecurities permitted. Incremental progress. How long have I been at this?
And now I’m starting to have fun. I took a risk, and now I’ve received a small reward.
Jordan Peterson talks frequently about taking small steps. If you can’t clean your room, clean a drawer. If you can’t do that, dust a shelf. Begin small and escalate. Supposedly, as you do more and more each day, some gland will excrete little shots of dopamine into your system, making you feel happy.
Frankly, this has never been my experience. There was a period in my life when I worked hard at trying to be more social. Smile (very hard for me). Speak to strangers (harder still). I was seeing a counselor at the time, and he cheered my efforts on. I’m pretty sure that helped. But then I moved away, and lost that support. I continued trying to be outgoing in my new environment, but gradually I ran out of gas. The little dopamine shots that were supposed to reward my efforts failed to show up. My emotional bank ran out of funds and I reverted to shyness.
And then there was music. As a kid I took 6 years of piano lessons. I never really got better. I hit a sort of glass ceiling. Later in life I spent about 3 years trying to learn guitar. Smack up against the same ceiling. Steady, incremental work, but no progress. No payoff. I assumed I must have a dopamine blockage.
But at last I’ve achieved a thing. In my seventh decade, I’ve learned a life lesson.
I always was a late bloomer.
I may be ready to marry by the time I’m in my 80s.
I had hoped to have a book review for you tonight, but I soured suddenly on the thing I was reading and gave it up. I’m not sure why I acquired it in the first place – the Amazon synopsis must have been misleading. It turned out to be a woman’s book, though the author was a man. It concerned a woman who gets involved with a couple who prove to have dark secrets. Seemed to be constructed on the basic Gothic pattern – a big old Victorian house was involved. But the story gave strong indications of wandering into Fifty Shades of Grey territory, and my interest dropped like one of my pills, or pens, or whatever other items I find myself dropping all the time in my dotage.
But I had a good morning. My audio book recording brought me – faster than I expected – to the end of Chapter 2 of Troll Valley. I found time to edit and master it too. The whole exercise was a lot less stressful than it has been up to now, so I felt no end of a professional narrator.
I think the final product will lack the polish that many audiobooks boast, but I believe I’m delivering a good performance. I was actually moved today, reading Otto Iverson’s testimony of faith – if you remember that scene in the old stone church. My voice caught a bit, but I did not stop the recording to do it over. The catch was in character.
I have learned very little wisdom in my long life, but I’ve gotten fairly comfortable with the difficult truths of incrementalism and perseverance – you do a little every day and it mounts up in the end. Don’t look at how little you’ve done today – watch how the work accumulates over time.
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