Week 6: Great Events - Death in Spring

[Tamara]

A visitor comes to Bjartur’s land to hunt and fish. The cow gives birth to a male calf. All are thrilled with the cow and her calf except for Bjartur. Ignoring Finna’s pleas, Bjartur slaughters the calf, devastating Finna and the children. The cow bellows and weeps for her baby. Fritha announces, “In this way, he’ll kill you all.”
Asta Sollilja becomes infatuated with the visitor when he brings trout and geese to the croft. Bjartur sends Asta and Nonni to deliver fresh milk to the visitor. When he comes to the croft to announce his departure, he touches Asta’s cheeks and says she has a lovely name for a lovely valley. Asta dreams of him.
The co-operatives are spreading. The bailiff and his son compete with Bruni for the farmers’ business. Bjartur buys timber and builds a new ewe house. He promises Asta he will build a big house for “the flower of his life.” Finna is pregnant, again. One of Bjartur’s sheep has been deliberately injured. Helgi claims he saw someone riding into the lake, and the old woman suspects it’s a ghost. Finna and the children admire a dandelion growing on the wall of the croft in the winter sun. Bjartur is concerned about his sheep who are showing signs of lung-worm with symptoms of cough, sluggishness, and foul-smelling diarrhea.
A severe blizzard lasts for several days. The sheep are unwell and refuse to eat the moldy hay. They compete with the cow for the depleting supply of good hay. Bjartur doesn’t sleep; Finna’s face is swollen from weeping.
Most of the sheep have lungworm and Bjartur slaughters those that are too sick. He feeds the good hay to his healthy ewes, depriving the cow of food. The cow grows thinner, stops yielding milk, and can no longer stand. Finna pleads with Bjartur to get more hay because the cow is starving and not yielding milk. Bjartur refuses to go into debt for the sake of a cow and threatens to kill the cow. Finna says, “If you are going to kill Bukolla, kill me first.”
The situation deteriorates. The weather is miserable; the children are hungry and cold; the sheep are infested with maggots and dying. Bjartur loses 25 sheep.
Audur Jonsdottir, accompanied by one of the bailiff’s men, is on her way to Reykjavik by ship and is forced to spend the night in Bjartur’s croft because of the storm. She leaves the next morning. The bailiff’s man tells Bjartur she is in a hurry to get married because she is pregnant.
After they leave, Bjartur sharpens his blade and wakes up Helgi to help him. Finna throws herself on Bjatur and pleads with him not to do it. She can’t bear to see the children starving. He shoves her aside, goes down, and drags the cow outside. Finna falls into her mother’s arms.

[Tamara]

Bjartur is obsessed with repeatedly announcing to all in sundry that he is self-sufficient, independent, and doesn’t owe money on his land. He even announces it to the complete stranger who asks permission to camp there. He defends his decision to support Bruni when he suspects the visitor is trying to undermine his relationship with the merchant. Why is Bjartur so suspicious and so quick to assume the worst of people?


Bjartur slaughters the calf and flippantly informs his family that the calf’s tripes are lying on the paving. Finna can’t bring herself to look at the cow for a week. And then the narrator says this:
There is nothing so merciless as mankind. How can we justify ourselves, especially to the dumb animals around us? But the first days are always the worst, and there is much comfort in the thought that time effaces everything, crime and sorrow no less than love.
Is the narrator accusing Bjartur, and by extension, all of mankind, of cruelty?


What is your impression of Fritha? She seems to be the only one who is not intimidated by Bjartur. What role does she play in the novel?


Is Bjartur justified in killing the cow?

[Monica]

Tamara wrote: "...Is Bjartur justified in killing the cow?"

I can understand his decision to kill the cow. He considers that the sheep are what really brings money to the family and the cow is a luxury that he cannot afford. Hard times lead to people making hard decisions.

What I cannot understand is why they do not fish or hunt regularly. If it is so easy as the camping stranger makes it seems, then why not use this as a way to have more and better food? Do they think it is so distasteful that they prefer to starve?

[Tamara]

Monica wrote: "I can understand his decision to kill the cow. He considers that the sheep are what really brings money to the family and the cow is a luxury that he cannot afford. Hard times lead to people making hard decisions..."

I’m not sure the choice is between the cow and the sheep. There is another option to address the shortage of good hay as Finna points out. She pleads with him to purchase more hay to feed all the animals so the children can have milk. But he refuses to do so because to purchase more hay means he will have to go into debt.

My sheep have made me an independent man, and I will never bow to anyone. To have people say of me that I took the beggar’s road for hay in the spring is a disgrace I will never tolerate.

It seems to me as if the choice is to go into debt to purchase fresh hay vs. his self-image and refusal to go into debt. He opts to preserve his image, kill the cow, and deprive his children of milk.

[Tamara]

Monica wrote: "What I cannot understand is why they do not fish or hunt regularly. If it is so easy as the camping stranger makes it seems, then why not use this as a way to have more and better food? Do they think it is so distasteful that they prefer to starve?."

Good question. I'm not sure there is a satisfactory answer. But we know Bjartur doesn't have a high opinion of fish or game. He tells the visitor who seeks permission to hunt on his land:

“There’s nothing worth fishing for,” said Bjartur. “Sensible people haven’t the time to waste on the rubbish you’ll find in the lake, and in any case whatever was caught in the marshes here, fish or fowl, wouldn’t do my sheep any good.”

It sounds as if he gauges everything by whether or not it is good for his sheep. He doesn’t consider that his children might benefit from fresh fish or fowl any more than he considers their need for milk.

[Sam]

Monica wrote:What I cannot understand is why they do not fish or hunt regularly. If it is so easy as the camping stranger makes it seems, then why not use this as a way to have more and better food? Do they think it is so distasteful that they prefer to starve?

Bjartur may be independent in his own mind, but he is co-dependent on his sheep. He cannot see much beyond them.

[Roger]

I've been wondering where they get the fish they're always eating. They don't spend any time fishing, and they're not near the sea or any market.

[Tamara]

Roger wrote: "I've been wondering where they get the fish they're always eating. They don't spend any time fishing, and they're not near the sea or any market."

He purchases it from Fjord. This is in the “Of Song” chapter:

Bjartur was rather worried about the children. Day after day they showed ever less liking for the so-called refuse-fish, salt catfish, coalfish, codfish, and the sour sausage from last autumn, so he felt it was unseemly of his wife to bless the creature [the cow] that deprived the children of their natural appetite for the food that he bought at such exorbitant prices down in Fjord.

I'm guessing Bjartur was raised on dried/salted fish and sour sausage, so he assumes it's "natural" food for his children.

[Monica]

Tamara wrote: "...Why is Bjartur so suspicious and so quick to assume the worst of people?..."

I wonder about it as well. My first answer would be that they live a very isolated life and therefore "the others" seem always dangerous. But Bjartur used to work at Útirauðsmýri where he should work and live together with other people (I believe). I think that he always felt like an outsider, he seems to have a lot of difficulty to establish good relationships with others. We never hear about him having a very good friend, someone visiting him or he visiting someone just to chat or something like this. So I guess that is why he is so suspicious of others. Well, at least so far in the book, there is nothing to indicate that he had a very bad experience with other people that could influence him to have such negative view of humanity in general. Maybe Laxness is holding something to justifiy his attitude in future chapters.

[Donnally]

In 1972, at the age of 20, I spent the summer in the Icelandic countryside. I hiked, and rode ponies. The countryside is very desolate. Iceland is basically a green fringe surrounding an interior which is mostly deserts and glaciers. There are no forests. The only trees were some stumpy birch trees which had been twisted and deformed by the constant wind. There was no game. There were birds. There were rivers, and there were salmon in the rivers, which many people fished. Apart from that, the people existed on their herds of sheep and goats. On the coast, there was an abundance of cod. In Reykjavik, I stayed at the cheapest accommodation, which was the Salvation Army, and there was a steady diet of lamb and cabbage.

[Tamara]

Monica wrote: "I think that he always felt like an outsider, he seems to have a lot of difficulty to establish good relationships with others. We never hear about him having a very good friend, someone visiting him or he visiting someone just to chat or something like this..."

I see him the same way, Monica. I think he must be very lonely. He didn't connect with either one of his wives. And he not only doesn’t have a close friend, he never seems to let his guard down.

This is from the "Building" chapter:

And then she [Asta] noticed his [Bjartur’s] face, the face that he never showed in the light of day, which no one knew or had ever been allowed to see, which never realized expression even in his most expert verse, the face of the man within.

Is the narrator suggesting Bjartur has hidden depths and that Asta is the only one who sees it? Does that explain why their bond is so strong?

[Monica]

Donnally wrote: "In 1972, at the age of 20, I spent the summer in the Icelandic countryside. I hiked, and rode ponies. The countryside is very desolate. Iceland is basically a green fringe surrounding an interior w..."

Donnally, that is very interesting, so you had the opportunity to actually spend some time closer to the the book's scenario. Not considering the difference in decades, of course. Just by curiosity: were there any dairy products from sheep milk? I was also surprised that Bjartur's family never mentioned any milk or cheese from the sheep but then I guessed that it may be just the kind of sheep that Bjartur raises.

[Roger]

Do they ever eat any of the sheep who perish so miserably?

[Donnally]

I don't recall any dairy products from the sheep (or goats).

[Tamara]

Roger wrote: "Do they ever eat any of the sheep who perish so miserably?"

Yes, but not till next week :)

[Tamara]

No one pays much attention to Fritha’s ramblings in the beginning, but she is the only one who is unafraid to confront Bjartur and criticize him. She calls him a “bloody murderer;” accuses him of spreading his tyranny on a Sunday; announces, “In this way, he’ll kill you all;” streams all manner of abuse on him when he kills the calf. And when Bjartur tells the visitor he’s thinking of building a house, Fritha interjects with, “it’s about time you were thinking of building some sense into your thick skull.”

I see Fritha as playing a role very similar to Shakespeare’s fool in King Lear. Am I way off, or does anyone else see that?

[Eva]

When I travel, I always ask in bookstores about local authors. Not so much in countries like France, UK, USA, Germany, Italy. More in countries with literature I know less about. Independent People was a treasure. I am ashamed to say I have never heard of this Nobel Prize winner A
I read it while still travelling around Iceland, that strange empty country with sun visible at 1 a.m., and with the local Viking descendants drinking cold beer dressed in shorts and cropped tops, pretending to be a heatwave when it was 14 Celsius (57 Fahrenheit) while I felt cold wearing a coat and a warm jumper. The colourful houses in Reykjavik, the towns (anything with over five thousand people and a church, but usually no pub or restaurant) So I was prepared for a slightly exotic read. This is indeed an exotic book for a Central European living in London.
In the book, Iceland in 20th century could have been 13th century Europe.
This is my review from 2011.
This book, about Iceland in the first half of twentieth century was strange but magnificent.
The life of the main character, a stubborn, brave, tenacious, and rather stupid (according to author himself) Bjartur of Summerhouses, an alien creature in alien surroundings, no roads, no civilisation, just hard work. I learnt to love the man. The book describes Iceland isolated, not touched by technical progress, a vastly different country from the one I visited in 2010.
I think the book is a masterpiece, no wonder it got the Nobel Prize for literature.
However, reading the book again later, some of the parts jumped up at me. We usually don’t call cold northern countries exotic. That is how I see it.
Some quotes:
The farmers talking about WW1:
Page 377
During WW1
“I came to the conclusion, that there is no fundamental difference between France and Germany at all and they are actually both the same country, with not even a strait between them, much less a fjord.
Both countries have woods, both countries have corn fields and both countries have cities. It is at least impossible to see the difference in. the landscapes ….”
“It is always a serious business to side with one when two are fighting…I say for my part that I shall wait patiently until one or the other wins, and it’s no matter to me which it is as long as somebody wins because then there will be more likelihood of the two countries being combined and made into one country so that their needs rise no future misunderstanding about their being two different countries. “…” …And so, to the ever-increasing prosperity of the land and its inhabitants, the World War. Proceeded. For four lucrative years it lasted, and more it went on, the greater was the gratification it aroused in the heart of the community. All good men prayed and hoped it might go on till doomsday. They called it the Blessed war “

I am now reading another Laxness’ novel. Salka Valka Again, exotic and magnificent, serious and tragic and funny

[Tamara]

Eva wrote: "When I travel, I always ask in bookstores about local authors. Not so much in countries like France, UK, USA, Germany, Italy. More in countries with literature I know less about. [book: Independent..."

Thank you for sharing your thoughts on Iceland and Independent People.

[Tamara]

Once again, I am full of admiration for Laxness’ ability to paint a picture with words. In the “Winter Morning” chapter, Laxness took us inside the mind of little Nonni to great effect. In this instance, he captures the mind of a painfully self-conscious Asta Sollilja, her embarrassment and feelings of awkwardness when the visitor brings them fresh fish:

But Asta Sollilja hadn’t the courage to offer the man a seat, her slip was so terrible, her arms so long, her hands so big; there was mud on her feet. She didn’t dare look at him, not even at the pleasing colour of the trout he was carrying. The rags she wore for underwear were lying there on the range staring him in the face, and steaming with damp. He thought of course that they hadn’t enough to eat. What ought she to say? What would father have said?

[Tamara]

Laxness uses lyrical language to great effect in the exchange between the visitor and Asta Sollilja:

“What do they call you?” he asked, and her heart stood still.
“Asta Sollilja,” she blurted out in anguish-stricken voice.
“Asta what?” he asked, but she didn’t dare own up to it again.
“Sollilja,” said little Nonni.
“Amazing,” said he, gazing at her as if to make sure whether it could be true, while she thought how dreadful it was to be saddled with such an absurdity. But he smiled at her and forgave her and comforted her and there was something so good so good in his eyes; so mild; it is in this that the soul longs to rest; from eternity to eternity. And she saw it for the first time in his eyes, and perhaps never afterwards, and faced it and understood. And that was that.
“Now I know why the valley is so lovely,” said the visitor.

It is interesting how the same valley is viewed in such contrasting ways. The visitor finds it enchanting, calls it lovely. For the children, on the other hand, it is anything but lovely. It is the source of their misery, exhaustion, hunger, runny noses, and back-breaking toil:

She [Asta] looked about her in the valley, looked at the marsh, the evil marsh where all summer long she had lifted the sodden hay, soaking and unhappy; the days seemed to have had no mornings, no evenings to look forward to—and now the valley was lovely. Now I know why the valley is so lovely. Why, then? No, it wasn’t because she was called Asta Sollilja. If it was lovely, it was because a wonderful man had come into the valley.

The valley is a place of extremes with beauty in the eye of the beholder.

The only character I can think of who straddles between seeing the valley both as a place of unmitigated beauty and as one requiring intensive labor is Bjartur. I'm thinking of the passages when he searches for Gullbra. He sees the beauty in nature, appreciates it, is in harmony with it, and is at peace in his surroundings.

[Eva]

Tamara wrote: "Eva wrote: "When I travel, I always ask in bookstores about local authors. Not so much in countries like France, UK, USA, Germany, Italy. More in countries with literature I know less about. [book:..."

Thank you, your books sound interesting . I bought the trilogy.

[Monica]

Roger wrote: "Do they ever eat any of the sheep who perish so miserably?"

Roger, I believe that most farmers are afraid to eat animals who dies from diseases in general, but specially worms, since there may be a risk to humans as well. But again, considering that they were always hungry (the kids, at least), I was surprised that they did not try to find a way to eat these animals as well.

[Monica]

Tamara wrote: "No one pays much attention to Fritha’s ramblings in the beginning, but she is the only one who is unafraid to confront Bjartur and criticize him. She calls him a “bloody murderer;” accuses him of s..."

Tamara, I agree with you. In this heavy atmosphere, where Bjartur reigns supreme at his family, she was a good contrast with everyone else's voices and close to what us, readers, think of him. Although it does not affect Bjartur (unfortunately), it seems to create some seeds of rebellion in the boys' minds. Let's hope it may develop into something good in the future.

[Tamara]

Monica wrote: "Roger, I believe that most farmers are afraid to eat animals who dies from diseases in general, but specially worms, since there may be a risk to humans as well..."

Speaking of sheep--Bjartur names all his sheep and has a close affinity with them which is very evident when they become disease-ridden and die. He seems more observant of his sheep’s growth, appearance, mannerisms, and idiosyncrasies than that of his own children.

Twenty-five gone, all of his own rearing. He had known each one’s pedigree, had been able to recognize every one of them from the day of its birth; a picture of each was graven on his mind as sharply as the features of any close friend, both appearance and personality. . . Each of them had had its own characteristics, its own temperament. He remembered minutely how each one’s horns had been, tufted on one, grey-spotted on another, yellow-streaked on a third; one was timid and as shrinking as the shyest maiden, another would spring impudently on to the walls or swim out into impassable rivers, a third liked to slink about in the gullies—and he had had to cut their throats.

Bjartur seems to be severely impacted by the loss of his sheep. Is it only because they are a source of income and independence? Or is there more going on here? I’m wondering if his affinity with animals has something to do with his inability to relate to people.

[Monica]

Tamara wrote: "...Bjartur seems to be severely impacted by the loss of his sheep. Is it only because they are a source of income and independence? Or is there more going on here? I’m wondering if his affinity with animals has something to do with his inability to relate to people."

Tamara, good point! As usual, I would say it is a mix of both. Before becoming a property owner, we learnt in past chapters that Bjartur worked as a shepherd for the governor's family. So we may say that he is defined in society by his professional skills: he takes care of sheep. Therefore he takes any loss of his sheep as a loss to his professional pride. But we can definitely see that, indeed, he seems to have more empathy with his sheep than with his family or other people.