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101 Reykjavik
Hlynur Björn is an unemployed 30-something loner, still living with his mum, who spends his days on the Internet, watching satellite TV, and gazing at girls in the pub. But Hlynur's cosy, unthreatening world is shaken when his mother comes out as a lesbian, and her Spanish girlfriend Lolla moves into their home. 101 Reykjavík is a first-person account of a blackly funny and bizarre love triangle, a dark, comic tale of perverse sexuality and slacker culture in Iceland's trendy capital city that pokes fun along the way at such foibles of our culture as CNN weather reports and porn videos.
352 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1996
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1472 people want to read
About the author
Hallgrímur Helgason
35 books271 followersHallgrímur Helgason is an Icelandic author, painter, translator, cartoonist and essayist. He has studied at the School of Visual Arts and Crafts in Reykjavík and the Academy of Fine Arts in Munich.
His most famous works are 101 Reykjavík, which was made into a popular film, and Höfundur Íslands (Iceland's Author), which won the Icelandic Literary Prize in 2001. He was nominated for the prize again in 2005 for the novel Rokland (Stormland), along with the Nordic Council's Literature Prize for 101 Reykjavík and Rokland.
His most famous works are 101 Reykjavík, which was made into a popular film, and Höfundur Íslands (Iceland's Author), which won the Icelandic Literary Prize in 2001. He was nominated for the prize again in 2005 for the novel Rokland (Stormland), along with the Nordic Council's Literature Prize for 101 Reykjavík and Rokland.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 141 reviews
March 27, 2017
Videorecensione: https://youtu.be/5wULXGPvpXY
"Guardo il notiziario pakistano, più che altro per vedere se nel planisfero hanno incluso l'Islanda. L'Islanda non c'è e questo è il problema. L'Islanda è un paese che a volte c'è e a volte no. Dipende da come gli girano al grafico. Se ha voglia di includere anche quest'isola, mentre disegna sul vetro nello studio pubblicitario di Karachi fradicio di sudore, con il fax ancora guasto e due settimane dopo che la fidanzata l'ha piantato. Ecco perché questa chiazza di sperma sul planisfero. Non sono abbastanza nazionalista per farmi innervosire da questo fatto. In un certo senso è una bella sensazione abitare in un'isola che non compare nei planisferi. Deresponsabilizzati. Non ci siamo. Noi guardiamo ma nessuno ci vede."
"Guardo il notiziario pakistano, più che altro per vedere se nel planisfero hanno incluso l'Islanda. L'Islanda non c'è e questo è il problema. L'Islanda è un paese che a volte c'è e a volte no. Dipende da come gli girano al grafico. Se ha voglia di includere anche quest'isola, mentre disegna sul vetro nello studio pubblicitario di Karachi fradicio di sudore, con il fax ancora guasto e due settimane dopo che la fidanzata l'ha piantato. Ecco perché questa chiazza di sperma sul planisfero. Non sono abbastanza nazionalista per farmi innervosire da questo fatto. In un certo senso è una bella sensazione abitare in un'isola che non compare nei planisferi. Deresponsabilizzati. Non ci siamo. Noi guardiamo ma nessuno ci vede."
September 21, 2010
Oh My Bjork.
I still remember this one. I wish I had forgotten it.
Well, I might have a very good reason for keeping the memories of '101 Reykjavik' alive.
You may say it's because of the post code, but you would be wrong. Actually I'm not planning to send any flattering paper letter to Hallgrìmur Helgason. And I am afraid that dispatching a wrapped package full of rotten tomatoes to him would cost me way too much via air mail. What a pity!
Perhaps I can recall this novel 6 or 7 years after having swallowed it because it stands around the top of many lists of mine.
Let's have a look at the rankings:
#1 The best book to give to your worst enemy.
#2 The biggest waste of paper I've ever read.
#1 The silliest plot ever written north of Copenhagen.
#5 The easiest object to toss in a recycling bin.
#3 The worst male character in a XXI century novel.
#2 The most unnecessary movie-adaptated book.
#4 The greatest relief ever felt in my life (after being done with it).
Ah, by the way: how does it end?
I am pretty sure I'm not giving any justice to "101 Rekyjavik" by not including this novel in the rankings of "the worst final ever".
I still remember this one. I wish I had forgotten it.
Well, I might have a very good reason for keeping the memories of '101 Reykjavik' alive.
You may say it's because of the post code, but you would be wrong. Actually I'm not planning to send any flattering paper letter to Hallgrìmur Helgason. And I am afraid that dispatching a wrapped package full of rotten tomatoes to him would cost me way too much via air mail. What a pity!
Perhaps I can recall this novel 6 or 7 years after having swallowed it because it stands around the top of many lists of mine.
Let's have a look at the rankings:
#1 The best book to give to your worst enemy.
#2 The biggest waste of paper I've ever read.
#1 The silliest plot ever written north of Copenhagen.
#5 The easiest object to toss in a recycling bin.
#3 The worst male character in a XXI century novel.
#2 The most unnecessary movie-adaptated book.
#4 The greatest relief ever felt in my life (after being done with it).
Ah, by the way: how does it end?
I am pretty sure I'm not giving any justice to "101 Rekyjavik" by not including this novel in the rankings of "the worst final ever".
May 25, 2008
I read the English translation of this book. The translator, Brian FitzGibbon, has his name buried on the copyright page, which is a shame because a novel like this has got to be a tough one to translate. FitzGibbon seems to have done an admirable job, but since I can hardly compare his work to the Icelandic original by Hallgrimur Helgason, I can't be sure.
I had trouble with the first third or so of this novel; the style of writing that puts the reader inside protagonist Hlynur Bjorn Haffsteinsson's head is littered with pop culture references, long stream-of-consciousness word-association games, and private jokes. When Hlynur deigns to speak to someone else, his dialogue is usually a vocalization of whatever's going on inside his head, which has got to be a strange experience for anyone within earshot: unless you're inside his head, Hlynur speaks in non sequitur. Most other characters pass him off as "funny" but he's really just odd. He's a crazy Icelandic Hamlet.
Hlynur makes other mommy's boys look like hardened men doing hard time. This thirtysomething kid -- who else would be happy about the prospect of being the father of his mother's child (by possibly impregnating his newly-bi mother's girlfriend Lolla, not incest)?
Hlynur can't decide if he hates women (he calls their genitals a "bacon sandwich" and watches live birth videos as porn), but he spends his time masturbating and trying to get laid, which, to his credit as a misogynist for whom no other woman can measure up to mommy, usually brings him to consider his sex partner a piece of meat, not a person. He'd be just as happy to screw a farm animal.
But Hlynur's world is nonetheless fascinating, his whirlwind year of parties and sex and self-discovery that is detailed in the book. His heartbreak when he finally chooses to love a woman, an Internet pen pal, only to have her already in the arms of another; his quixotic suicide attempt by AIDS by having unprotected sex with a Parisian hooker; his bizarre dealings with the oddball Timer and their pseudovoodoo attempts at aborting Lolla's unborn child.
And all through this FitzGibbon keeps the language and style on key: puns are still puns, fake palindromes and all. Gotta be a feat.
I had trouble with the first third or so of this novel; the style of writing that puts the reader inside protagonist Hlynur Bjorn Haffsteinsson's head is littered with pop culture references, long stream-of-consciousness word-association games, and private jokes. When Hlynur deigns to speak to someone else, his dialogue is usually a vocalization of whatever's going on inside his head, which has got to be a strange experience for anyone within earshot: unless you're inside his head, Hlynur speaks in non sequitur. Most other characters pass him off as "funny" but he's really just odd. He's a crazy Icelandic Hamlet.
Hlynur makes other mommy's boys look like hardened men doing hard time. This thirtysomething kid -- who else would be happy about the prospect of being the father of his mother's child (by possibly impregnating his newly-bi mother's girlfriend Lolla, not incest)?
Hlynur can't decide if he hates women (he calls their genitals a "bacon sandwich" and watches live birth videos as porn), but he spends his time masturbating and trying to get laid, which, to his credit as a misogynist for whom no other woman can measure up to mommy, usually brings him to consider his sex partner a piece of meat, not a person. He'd be just as happy to screw a farm animal.
But Hlynur's world is nonetheless fascinating, his whirlwind year of parties and sex and self-discovery that is detailed in the book. His heartbreak when he finally chooses to love a woman, an Internet pen pal, only to have her already in the arms of another; his quixotic suicide attempt by AIDS by having unprotected sex with a Parisian hooker; his bizarre dealings with the oddball Timer and their pseudovoodoo attempts at aborting Lolla's unborn child.
And all through this FitzGibbon keeps the language and style on key: puns are still puns, fake palindromes and all. Gotta be a feat.
October 29, 2024
Jazda bez trzymanki, po bandzie, Helgasson nie bierze jeńców.
O ile totalnie kupuję ten język, kompozycję, rytm, drugoplanowe postaci, to trudno nie zgrzytać zębami nad głównym bohaterem - mizoginem, szowinistą i incelem.
Trochę się przemęczyłem, ale koniec końców było warto, choćby dla możliwość wejścia w mentalność Islandczyków.
O ile totalnie kupuję ten język, kompozycję, rytm, drugoplanowe postaci, to trudno nie zgrzytać zębami nad głównym bohaterem - mizoginem, szowinistą i incelem.
Trochę się przemęczyłem, ale koniec końców było warto, choćby dla możliwość wejścia w mentalność Islandczyków.
February 13, 2014
This is possibly one of the most bizarre books I have ever read. It doesn’t actually go anywhere; just details the life of an incredibly annoying moron.
Hlynur is just awful. He has no social skills, no awareness of what’s going on, is incredibly self-centred and overall an idiot. He lacks any charm to make the reader emphasise or even like him and seems mentally disturbed. A lot of what he says and thinks is really quite offensive and vulgar and at times it made unpleasant reading, particularly when he tries to catch aids off a French prostitute. As the book is mainly a collection of his thoughts, we don’t particularly get to know any of the other characters bar through his eyes. We know the hotness of the females and occasional information about his friends but other than that it’s just a monologue of his life.
Whilst it was divided into a few sections, there were no chapters so the continuous prose became dry at times as there was no natural break. Helgason also would include randomly short sentences that did not flow naturally, “Heavenly. I’m an angel now. Flittering. Fluttering.” He also did not make it clear which parts were actually real and which were in Hlynur’s imagination.
However very well done to Brian Fitzgibbon for a great translation into English. It must be hard to translate Icelandic humour in a way that makes sense to English readers but it was very smoothly done. The only positive I can say about Helgason’s work is that I found it interesting to learn about Icelandic 90s culture, which I thought he portrayed well. Other than that this is a book I will never touch again.
Hlynur is just awful. He has no social skills, no awareness of what’s going on, is incredibly self-centred and overall an idiot. He lacks any charm to make the reader emphasise or even like him and seems mentally disturbed. A lot of what he says and thinks is really quite offensive and vulgar and at times it made unpleasant reading, particularly when he tries to catch aids off a French prostitute. As the book is mainly a collection of his thoughts, we don’t particularly get to know any of the other characters bar through his eyes. We know the hotness of the females and occasional information about his friends but other than that it’s just a monologue of his life.
Whilst it was divided into a few sections, there were no chapters so the continuous prose became dry at times as there was no natural break. Helgason also would include randomly short sentences that did not flow naturally, “Heavenly. I’m an angel now. Flittering. Fluttering.” He also did not make it clear which parts were actually real and which were in Hlynur’s imagination.
However very well done to Brian Fitzgibbon for a great translation into English. It must be hard to translate Icelandic humour in a way that makes sense to English readers but it was very smoothly done. The only positive I can say about Helgason’s work is that I found it interesting to learn about Icelandic 90s culture, which I thought he portrayed well. Other than that this is a book I will never touch again.
August 4, 2024
„Nazywam się Hlynur Björn Hafsteinsson. Urodziłem się 18.02.62. Dziś jest 15.12.95. Między tymi dniami: wszystkie moje. Leżę rozpostarty między tymi liczbami. Urodziłem się w sobotę. Dziś jest sobota. Życie to jeden tydzień. Umieram w każdy weekend. Jeden tydzień. Przedtem minęła cała historia ludzkości, potem nastąpi kolejna. Martwy będę po śmierci i martwy byłem, nim się urodziłem. Życie to przerwa w śmierci. Człowiek nie może być martwy cały czas”.
Autor zabrał mnie na rok do popieprzonej głowy trzydziestoletniego typa, który mieszka z mamusią, jest wiecznie na zasiłku, kocha imprezy, papierosy, seks i ekstazy, kobiety wycenia w koronach, w wolnych chwilą ogląda w necie porno i porody i ma lekką obsesję na punkcie Wojtyły (tak naszego Karolka 🤡). Jego życie zaczyna się zmieniać, kiedy dowiaduje się, że jego matka jest lesbijką i wprowadza się do nich jej dziewczyna, a wokół niego nagle pojawia się sporo ciąż.
I niech ten wstęp przesieje wszystkich pruderyjnych, ułożonych, bez dystansu oraz tych czy te, które muszą polubić swojego bohatera i uważają, że książki mają prezentować moralne wzory, a złe zachowania piętnować. Ok, już?
I może powinnam napisać, że to książka o nieszczęśliwym, samotnym, pogubionym kolesiu, który gdzieś na końcu spotykając pewną dziewczynę pokazuje swoją wrażliwą twarz, ale zostałam zmanipulowana, bo ta chwila trwała jakieś dwie minuty i szybko wrócił do swoich korzeni, a jego romantyczność kończy się na zdaniu „Chodzi mi o to, że ona zamiast płynu do płukania ust zawsze wlewa mi do nich uczucia”. Love it!
„101 Reykjavik” to jazda bez trzymanki, a właściwie to raczej niekontrolowany lot w kosmos. To co robi z tej książki naprawdę dobrą literaturę to forma. Helgason zalewa nas słowami, strumieniem świadomości zbudowanym krótkimi zdaniami i abstrakcyjnymi myślami skojarzeniowymi. Umie nabrać prędkości bez pędzącej akcji i bawić się frazą. Ja kocham ten absurd i ten niepoprawny cyniczny czarny humor. Sięgajcie, ale nie mówicie potem, że nie ostrzegałam!
Autor zabrał mnie na rok do popieprzonej głowy trzydziestoletniego typa, który mieszka z mamusią, jest wiecznie na zasiłku, kocha imprezy, papierosy, seks i ekstazy, kobiety wycenia w koronach, w wolnych chwilą ogląda w necie porno i porody i ma lekką obsesję na punkcie Wojtyły (tak naszego Karolka 🤡). Jego życie zaczyna się zmieniać, kiedy dowiaduje się, że jego matka jest lesbijką i wprowadza się do nich jej dziewczyna, a wokół niego nagle pojawia się sporo ciąż.
I niech ten wstęp przesieje wszystkich pruderyjnych, ułożonych, bez dystansu oraz tych czy te, które muszą polubić swojego bohatera i uważają, że książki mają prezentować moralne wzory, a złe zachowania piętnować. Ok, już?
I może powinnam napisać, że to książka o nieszczęśliwym, samotnym, pogubionym kolesiu, który gdzieś na końcu spotykając pewną dziewczynę pokazuje swoją wrażliwą twarz, ale zostałam zmanipulowana, bo ta chwila trwała jakieś dwie minuty i szybko wrócił do swoich korzeni, a jego romantyczność kończy się na zdaniu „Chodzi mi o to, że ona zamiast płynu do płukania ust zawsze wlewa mi do nich uczucia”. Love it!
„101 Reykjavik” to jazda bez trzymanki, a właściwie to raczej niekontrolowany lot w kosmos. To co robi z tej książki naprawdę dobrą literaturę to forma. Helgason zalewa nas słowami, strumieniem świadomości zbudowanym krótkimi zdaniami i abstrakcyjnymi myślami skojarzeniowymi. Umie nabrać prędkości bez pędzącej akcji i bawić się frazą. Ja kocham ten absurd i ten niepoprawny cyniczny czarny humor. Sięgajcie, ale nie mówicie potem, że nie ostrzegałam!
October 15, 2019
Hlynur, a semmirekellő, anyjánál dekkoló munkanélküli krisztusi korba lép, én pedig, mint olvasó, joggal feltételezem, hogy ennek a krisztusi kornak (ami a regényirodalom férfihőseinél meglehetősen felülreprezentált életkor) az az üzenete, hogy most aztán minden megváltozik. Változgat, változgat, nem mondom, de azért ne számítsunk csernaszabói hasításra az élet Route 66-jén, ez inkább kínlódás az emberi kapcsolatok dzsungelében, és az ezt kísérő fokozatos becsavarodás*. Mondanám, hogy amolyan woodyallenes cucc, de ők csak annyira hasonlítanak egymásra, amennyire Reykjavík hasonlít Manhattan-re, különösen ami a szórakozási lehetőségeket illeti.
Helgason legszembetűnőbb írói skillje az a szédítő asszociatív szóáradás (és itt most talán találóbb lett volna egy vulgárisabb kifejezés), ami úgy gördül előre, mint a hógolyó, amiből aztán a végén lavina lesz. Tökéletesen tiszteletlen, a polkorrektséget nagyvonalúan mellőző hadovából épül fel az egész regény, aminek szikár történetváza talán fél oldalt sem töltene meg, de ez az őrjítő duma felduzzasztja bő 350-re az egészet. Mindez bennem igen-igen ambivalens érzéseket keltett. Egyrészt helyenként hihetetlenül szórakoztató és ötletes, másrészt nagyon kiszolgáltatja magát annak a veszélynek, amibe a hozzá hasonló prózák rendszeresen belefulladnak: hogy feszes történet híján addig tötymörögnek az asszociatív mókamocsárban, amíg az egész végül totálisan unalmassá és érdektelenné nem válik. Nem azzal van a baj, hogy Helgason szakmányban tolja a trágárabbnál trágárabb kifejezéseket, hanem hogy olyan, mintha ezt sokszor csupán pótcselekvésből tenné. (Megjegyzem: mindezt menti némiképp, hogy ez elbeszélőnk, Hlynur gondolkodásmódjával abszolút kompatibilisen történik. Ettől függetlenül ha én lettem volna az író helyében, alaposan meghúztam volna a kéziratot, még ha össze is veszek magammal emiatt.) Harmadrészt pedig: erről szívesen meghallgatnám a fordító, Egyed Veronika** véleményét, de szerintem ez egy magyaríthatatlan könyv. Hiszen az egész tulajdonképpen egy gigantikus izlandi szóvicc – lehet egyáltalán valamit kezdeni vele? Ha belegondolok, az, hogy inkább élveztem a szöveget, mint nem, már önmagában egy megmagyarázhatatlan anomália.
Merthogy bizarrul mulatságos regény ez, de ami leginkább megragadott, az Izland kisvárosiasságának érzékletes ábrázolása: ez egy olyan ország, ahol újra és újra ugyanazokat az arcokat látod, ahol kevesebben laknak, mint Békés megyében, és aminek lakosait egy óceán választja el a civilizáció többi részétől. És ez egy olyan ország, ahol egész egyszerűen képtelenség éhen halni, de még (hazai értelemben) szegény se nagyon lehet az ember – itt a problémák nem a piszkos anyagiakhoz kapcsolódnak, hanem a lélek jódolgában amortizálódik. Amit magam is kipróbálnék.
* Bár bizonyos aspektusból ez a becsavarodás nem fokozatos, hanem Hlynur alaptulajdonsága már a 0. oldaltól kezdve. Ennek eldöntésére vállalkozzon, aki pszichoanalitikus.
** Aki többek között Sjón két könyvét is fordította, remekül. Úgyhogy nyilván nem az ő képességeivel van a baj.
Helgason legszembetűnőbb írói skillje az a szédítő asszociatív szóáradás (és itt most talán találóbb lett volna egy vulgárisabb kifejezés), ami úgy gördül előre, mint a hógolyó, amiből aztán a végén lavina lesz. Tökéletesen tiszteletlen, a polkorrektséget nagyvonalúan mellőző hadovából épül fel az egész regény, aminek szikár történetváza talán fél oldalt sem töltene meg, de ez az őrjítő duma felduzzasztja bő 350-re az egészet. Mindez bennem igen-igen ambivalens érzéseket keltett. Egyrészt helyenként hihetetlenül szórakoztató és ötletes, másrészt nagyon kiszolgáltatja magát annak a veszélynek, amibe a hozzá hasonló prózák rendszeresen belefulladnak: hogy feszes történet híján addig tötymörögnek az asszociatív mókamocsárban, amíg az egész végül totálisan unalmassá és érdektelenné nem válik. Nem azzal van a baj, hogy Helgason szakmányban tolja a trágárabbnál trágárabb kifejezéseket, hanem hogy olyan, mintha ezt sokszor csupán pótcselekvésből tenné. (Megjegyzem: mindezt menti némiképp, hogy ez elbeszélőnk, Hlynur gondolkodásmódjával abszolút kompatibilisen történik. Ettől függetlenül ha én lettem volna az író helyében, alaposan meghúztam volna a kéziratot, még ha össze is veszek magammal emiatt.) Harmadrészt pedig: erről szívesen meghallgatnám a fordító, Egyed Veronika** véleményét, de szerintem ez egy magyaríthatatlan könyv. Hiszen az egész tulajdonképpen egy gigantikus izlandi szóvicc – lehet egyáltalán valamit kezdeni vele? Ha belegondolok, az, hogy inkább élveztem a szöveget, mint nem, már önmagában egy megmagyarázhatatlan anomália.
Merthogy bizarrul mulatságos regény ez, de ami leginkább megragadott, az Izland kisvárosiasságának érzékletes ábrázolása: ez egy olyan ország, ahol újra és újra ugyanazokat az arcokat látod, ahol kevesebben laknak, mint Békés megyében, és aminek lakosait egy óceán választja el a civilizáció többi részétől. És ez egy olyan ország, ahol egész egyszerűen képtelenség éhen halni, de még (hazai értelemben) szegény se nagyon lehet az ember – itt a problémák nem a piszkos anyagiakhoz kapcsolódnak, hanem a lélek jódolgában amortizálódik. Amit magam is kipróbálnék.
* Bár bizonyos aspektusból ez a becsavarodás nem fokozatos, hanem Hlynur alaptulajdonsága már a 0. oldaltól kezdve. Ennek eldöntésére vállalkozzon, aki pszichoanalitikus.
** Aki többek között Sjón két könyvét is fordította, remekül. Úgyhogy nyilván nem az ő képességeivel van a baj.
August 15, 2021
Mjög fyndin bók - skemmtilegt hvernig Hallgrímur leikur sér að orðum. Byrjaði og kláraði hana á 2 dögum og var byrjuð að hugsa í orðastílnum hans Hlyns Bjarnar. Gat ekki sleppt henni frá mér. Er að rifja upp myndina núna.
September 17, 2016
Tas bija visnotaļ murgs. Galvenais varonis ir nedaudz garīgi atpalicis, nespējīgs saprasti citu cilvēku emocijas, ar tādu domu gājienu, ka rodas iespaids, ka autors nav bijis skaidrā prātā, to rakstot. Pirmās 20-50 lpp šāda pārmaiņa izvēlētajā literatūrā pat ir interesanta, bet pie 200lpp jau sen tas viss ir apnicis. Pilnīgs sviests. Un tā ir viņa populārākā grāmata, kurai ir pat filma. Vienkārši ko???
October 8, 2020
A great read, absolutely enjoyed it! I have a thing for books about the lost and messed up people of society. Helgason's writing style is very unique. He writes in short sentences some even just the length of one word. He often describes things in a way that no other writer has done before. You can laugh your ass off, be disgusted, purely shocked, or pulled into deep thoughts from these short sentences. Sometimes all of this happens at once.
This book is definitely an adventure into a lost man's soul and mind. The story is interesting, shocking at times. Some bits where the main character took speed were quite strange - but I think they also fit the story well. Definitely a great read, those who liked Bukowski's "Women" will enjoy this one!
This book is definitely an adventure into a lost man's soul and mind. The story is interesting, shocking at times. Some bits where the main character took speed were quite strange - but I think they also fit the story well. Definitely a great read, those who liked Bukowski's "Women" will enjoy this one!
May 21, 2016
What a ridiculous book, but the way Hallgrimur Helgason plays around with words describing weather, mood, taste of alcohol, pretty much anything is so precise and funny. It's very Icelandic and dark-humored story, where there is not much of the story, just a description of a year in a life of this 34 year old guy from Reykjavik.
It is quite impressive that the book taking place in 1995 (when I was 9 years old) speaks to me with no need of translation. I know every song he mentions, I know the references and I know the events... while when people mention modern singers and events, I have no idea what they are talking about.
As for me, there is too much descriptions of the body functions of this guy, but at the same time it curious to know the flow of thoughts in a guys head with no filters.
I loved reading it. But I must say you should know at least a bit about Iceland before reading this book, a lot of references wouldn't make sense without experiencing it yourself.
It is quite impressive that the book taking place in 1995 (when I was 9 years old) speaks to me with no need of translation. I know every song he mentions, I know the references and I know the events... while when people mention modern singers and events, I have no idea what they are talking about.
As for me, there is too much descriptions of the body functions of this guy, but at the same time it curious to know the flow of thoughts in a guys head with no filters.
I loved reading it. But I must say you should know at least a bit about Iceland before reading this book, a lot of references wouldn't make sense without experiencing it yourself.
Read
March 27, 2007Helgason was the only author I couldn't interview back when I was in Iceland in 2000, so maybe that's why I never got around to reading it; or maybe its because it was the most over-hyped thing ever when I was living there; or maybe because everything I ever read about it made me dislike it; or maybe because every interview with Helgason made him seem like a complete dick. Anyway, I've never read it, but I still hate it.
July 19, 2010
i wanted to like this. but about five pages in, i wanted to punch the protagonist in the face. set in iceland makes you almost forget the book is about an unemployed slacker hipster doofus. almost. i like iceland. i want to visit iceland. i do not want to read about a hipster doofus.
i may try reading this again when i don't have anything else on my list. it has a certain weird charm. just maybe. if i can get past hating the main character.
i may try reading this again when i don't have anything else on my list. it has a certain weird charm. just maybe. if i can get past hating the main character.
July 16, 2024
Bohater "101 Reykjavik", Hlynur, jest po trzydziestce, dni upływają mu na nicnierobieniu, ewentualnie wojażach po knajpach, piciu, paleniu i wyrywaniu dziewczyn. Niestety, nie jest Kolesiem Lebowskim z filmu braci Coen, uroczym typem, jest Hlynurem - knurem (wybaczcie słaby rym, ale oddaje on moje odczucia). Jego relacja z matką to terapeutyczne marzenie Freuda, jego rozważania na temat życia są pseudorozważaniami na temat życia. Okrzepł w swoim stanie, w swoim barłogu, w swojej nędznej, zbędnej egzystencji, której nie splamił żadną pracą, za to kroplami spermy wielokrotnie. To, że udaje mu się wyrwać dziewczyny uznaję za dowód na to, że cuda istnieją.
Powieść obfituje w opisy masturbacji, opisy penisa w zwisie, wzwodzie i stanach pomiędzy, opisy kopulacji, które, ech, szkoda gadać. Do pełni opisu dodam ciąże chciane i niechciane, rodzinne niespodzianki i relacje międzyludzkie topione w jałowych dialogach.
Powieść miała premierę w 1996 roku. Byłam wtedy w klasie maturalnej. Gdybym przeczytała ja jako 19-latka, bez bagażu doświadczeń i bez tych lektur, które teraz mam na koncie, pewnie bardziej bym ją doceniła. Może byłabym pod większym wrażeniem języka (szacunek dla tłumacza Jacka Godka!), może znalazłabym coś intrygującego w bohaterze.
Niestety, powieść okrutnie się zestarzała. Nie wiem, gdzie tu sugerowana na okładce "poruszająca, groteskowa opowieść o szaleństwie współczesnego świata", skoro to historia smętnego dupka, który nie potrafi odczepić się od mamusi i nie jest w stanie NIC zaoferować światu.
W jakiejś opinii na Goodreads ktoś stwierdził, że to idealna powieść na prezent dla wroga. Żałuję, że nie ja to wymyśliłam.
Powieść obfituje w opisy masturbacji, opisy penisa w zwisie, wzwodzie i stanach pomiędzy, opisy kopulacji, które, ech, szkoda gadać. Do pełni opisu dodam ciąże chciane i niechciane, rodzinne niespodzianki i relacje międzyludzkie topione w jałowych dialogach.
Powieść miała premierę w 1996 roku. Byłam wtedy w klasie maturalnej. Gdybym przeczytała ja jako 19-latka, bez bagażu doświadczeń i bez tych lektur, które teraz mam na koncie, pewnie bardziej bym ją doceniła. Może byłabym pod większym wrażeniem języka (szacunek dla tłumacza Jacka Godka!), może znalazłabym coś intrygującego w bohaterze.
Niestety, powieść okrutnie się zestarzała. Nie wiem, gdzie tu sugerowana na okładce "poruszająca, groteskowa opowieść o szaleństwie współczesnego świata", skoro to historia smętnego dupka, który nie potrafi odczepić się od mamusi i nie jest w stanie NIC zaoferować światu.
W jakiejś opinii na Goodreads ktoś stwierdził, że to idealna powieść na prezent dla wroga. Żałuję, że nie ja to wymyśliłam.
September 20, 2022
Áhugaverð svo ekki sé meira sagt
dnf
July 23, 2024dnf na 38%. nie da się tego czytać, nie chcę się dłużej z nią męczyć. jak napisał ktoś mądry w recenzji, to idealna książka dla twojego największego wroga. dramat
July 30, 2024
Kilka razy się uśmiechnąłem, absurdyzm momentami wykreowany świetnie, no i tłumaczenie pana Godka 👌
Tylko to wszystko trwało już za długo po ostatnim nocnym busie z letniego melanżu...
Tylko to wszystko trwało już za długo po ostatnim nocnym busie z letniego melanżu...
May 27, 2017
Immaginatevi se Welsh, Palahniuk ed Ellis si trovassero in Islanda e facessero un figlio assieme. Ecco a voi: 101 Reykjavik.
May 26, 2010
Hlynur, the novel's protagonist, is healthy and intelligent enough to support himself, but is so unmotivated that he prefers to live with his mother and take advantage of the welfare system. He spends his days watching porn, partying, and chasing women, assessing every female he meets based on how much he would be willing to pay to sleep with her. Being an ambitious young woman who abhors misogynists, I expected to hate this book based on the nature of its protagonist. In the end, however, I loved it! Author Hallgrímur Helgason skillfully crafts a character with enough depth, quirks, and doubts to make readers care about him, enjoy sharing his encounters and acquaintances, and perhaps even sympathize with him at times despite his seemingly unappealing nature. Hallgrímur Helgason's distinctive style features abundant clever dialogue and odd, arresting details; these scenes, masterfully woven together to create Hlynur's worldview, constitute a vivid, unforgettable work. Overall, the novel struck me as an edgier "A Confederacy of Dunces" (because of its bright but unmotivated main character dealing with bizarre, awkward situations) mixed with Alexander McCall Smith's Professor Igelfeld series (because of the colorful exchanges between characters). My only caveat is that Hallgrímur Helgason's sense of humor is extremely dark and irreverent. It struck me as similar in tone to some of Warren Ellis's writing. This added to my enjoyment of the book because I am a fan of dark humor. If you happen to be a devout Catholic or someone squeamish about sex, however, you should probably avoid this book altogether because it is graphic and/or sacrilegious enough to merit a "Parental advisory: explicit content" sticker according to mainstream American standards.
On a side note, translator Brian FitzGibbon deserves just as much praise as author Hallgrímur Helgason for this work. Translating Icelandic puns, similes, colloquialisms, etc. to English must be an extremely difficult task. Considering how amusing and smooth the humor and overall narrative were in the English version I read, FitzGibbon should be praised not only for accepting the challenge, but also for handling it beautifully.
On a side note, translator Brian FitzGibbon deserves just as much praise as author Hallgrímur Helgason for this work. Translating Icelandic puns, similes, colloquialisms, etc. to English must be an extremely difficult task. Considering how amusing and smooth the humor and overall narrative were in the English version I read, FitzGibbon should be praised not only for accepting the challenge, but also for handling it beautifully.
June 6, 2007
This is probably one of Iceland's best known film exports, if not just for the fact Damon from Blur did the soundtrack with ex-Sugarcube Einar Orn. Again, Hilmir Snaer is in it, so I would see it just for that...hehehe...but, seriously, I could not get into this book at first...even after I saw the movie. I just could not understand or relate to Hlynur Bjorn...but then I went to Reyjavik and got to know alot of the people (not because of the movie) and I read it again, and it Hlynur started to seem a lot more like a Scandinavian version of Rob Gordon (minus having a job or owning a record shop). That's when I saw it as a coming of age novel...and I burned right through it. Good times!
September 14, 2015
A brilliant way of portraying a cynical mans thought, written so well that even I, aperson with adhd can follow it. Even though nothing much happened, I was always so interested and entertained by his every move. I read it about 4 times now. Movie is kind of a let down though.. they left many important parts out.
June 15, 2024
Ja, ei litta skrue, det her, gitt. Den får ei stjerne eller to for kreativiteten, si!
July 2, 2019
Jæja, loksins kláraði ég þessa. Pínu vonbrigði af því að það leynist geggjuð bók inni í öllum þessum textafrumskógi og það er sérstaklega súrt þar sem hún er frábær framan af. Hins vegar þegar ég var kominn fram yfir 200-250 blaðsíður kárnaði gamanið dálítið, neistinn sem var í byrjun hvarf og við tók óþarfa moð. Bókin er sirka 100 síðum of löng og fær einkunnina nokkuð góð frekar en mjög góð. Hugmyndin með bókinni er náttúrulega að taka söguna í Hamlet og setja gott spin á hana, flytja hana í 101 og snúa henni aðeins á haus. Hallgrímur gerir mjög vel, býr til skemmtilega karaktera og er ógeðslega fyndinn höfundur en hann hefur aðeins misst sig í því að troða inn öllum Hamlet-tengingunum (útlandaferðin með Rósa og Gulla er t.d. bæði löng og leiðinleg).
Baltasar Kormákur leikstýrði myndinni sem byggir á bókinni og aðlagaði sjálfur handritið að skjánum. Breytingarnar og styttingarnar sem hann gerði á textanum heppnuðust mjög vel og mér finnst, núna þegar ég hef séð myndina og lesið bókina, myndin eiginlega betri en bókin þó hún sé alls ekki fullkomin heldur.
Baltasar Kormákur leikstýrði myndinni sem byggir á bókinni og aðlagaði sjálfur handritið að skjánum. Breytingarnar og styttingarnar sem hann gerði á textanum heppnuðust mjög vel og mér finnst, núna þegar ég hef séð myndina og lesið bókina, myndin eiginlega betri en bókin þó hún sé alls ekki fullkomin heldur.
September 24, 2020
I am not really the target audience for this, to be fair, but I don't think this is one I would want to reread. It's a stream of consciousness, of an unemployed Icelandic man in his 30s who appears to make no attempt to do anything other than masturbate and watch TV with occasional sorties to drink or take drugs in the bars of Reykjavik. The bodily fluid quota is quite high (there's a revolting nose-picking description and quite a bit of lavatorial stuff as well as the all the masturbation and some odd sexual encounters), and it's not something to read just before your dinner. That said, it is funny in places (I loved the parking meter incident) and the descriptions of the background - the Icelandic social life and the environs - are very successful in conveying the atmosphere. The main character is an anti-hero, really - you are not meant to like him or approve of his behaviour, I think, which is just as well as his attitude to women is generally unpleasant. It is quite hard to read so many pages without any paragraph breaks at all, too. It's a bit reminiscent of Joyce's Ulysses (which I never did finish!)
February 16, 2021
Helgason's hedonistic first person tale of a man trying to stave off adulthood by indulging in porn, satellite TV and endless nights out that drift into hazes of drunken parties and unsatisfying sex.
It is to Helgason's credit that a protagonist so outwardly unpleasant as Bjorn - all outward misogyny and misanthropy - garners our sympathy. Partly because the story is told - sometimes as a gushing, angry stream of consciousness - from his POV and partly because there is a vulnerability on offer despite his often destructive an self-loathing actions
The Reykjavik setting has a sense of a microcosm and inescapability - offering either hedonism or stultifying domesticity - while the book indulges in a plot that is both soap operaish (pregnancies, outings, drunken encounters) yet grimly real.
It's a sometimes startling book (maybe slightly dated - Bjorn would be cancelled pretty much immediately nowadays) like cold snow down the back, and a darkly enjoyable read
It is to Helgason's credit that a protagonist so outwardly unpleasant as Bjorn - all outward misogyny and misanthropy - garners our sympathy. Partly because the story is told - sometimes as a gushing, angry stream of consciousness - from his POV and partly because there is a vulnerability on offer despite his often destructive an self-loathing actions
The Reykjavik setting has a sense of a microcosm and inescapability - offering either hedonism or stultifying domesticity - while the book indulges in a plot that is both soap operaish (pregnancies, outings, drunken encounters) yet grimly real.
It's a sometimes startling book (maybe slightly dated - Bjorn would be cancelled pretty much immediately nowadays) like cold snow down the back, and a darkly enjoyable read
dnf
March 14, 2024I never, well okay, I hardly ever rate a book I did not finish. This one is no exception.
This book to me is pure chaos, I can't discover a storyline. It seems like drinking, sex & Rating Girls/women are THE most important things in the world.
I tried, I really did, but this book really wasn't my cup of tea.
This book to me is pure chaos, I can't discover a storyline. It seems like drinking, sex & Rating Girls/women are THE most important things in the world.
I tried, I really did, but this book really wasn't my cup of tea.
August 17, 2024
There is a lot that could be said about this book, but I am going to confine myself to remarking two things.
The amount of wordplay in the text (i read it in Icelandic) is insane. Must have been a nightmare to translate and probably no translation even comes close to the original.
This could have been a 5 star book, but some passages felt a little too out of pocket, even considering its overall tone and the fact that it is narrated from the (admittedly deeply flawed) protagonist's POV.
The amount of wordplay in the text (i read it in Icelandic) is insane. Must have been a nightmare to translate and probably no translation even comes close to the original.
This could have been a 5 star book, but some passages felt a little too out of pocket, even considering its overall tone and the fact that it is narrated from the (admittedly deeply flawed) protagonist's POV.
September 22, 2025
What a terrible protagonist with no redeeming qualities... Immature, unreflective, thoughtless (though clever/streetwise in his own way), devoid of even a shred of empathy, with a cigarette always in his mouth and a condom in his pocket.
And yet it reads well, and you still want to know what happens next, though hope is hard to find. An unpleasant but intriguing portrait.
And yet it reads well, and you still want to know what happens next, though hope is hard to find. An unpleasant but intriguing portrait.
March 22, 2024
i almost could not finish this shit. reads like a man-baby’s wet dream
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