This is part two of a series on Icelandic literature – head over to Interesting Icelandic Authors and Recommended Translated Books to read the other one. This blog is written by Einar Steinn, one of Your Friend in Reykjavik‘s guides. A dedicated book lover with an impressive knowledge of Icelandic literature, Einar brings a wealth of insight into Iceland’s storytelling traditions. Born and raised in Reykjavík, he’s a guide, skilled tourism writer, and translator.
As I mentioned in my other blog series, Icelanders have a long and proud literary heritage dating back to the Middle Ages. That’s when classic works of literature, the Icelandic sagas and the two Eddas, were written. The sagas focus on heroes from the Viking age, and the Eddas on Norse mythology. Nowadays, hundreds of new titles are published yearly in Iceland. This is no small feat for a country with a population of less than 400,000.
Many writers have reached an international audience and have been translated into English and other languages. Yet, many great works remain untranslated. In this blog, I want to tell you about great Icelandic works that need an English translation and their authors. The difficulty of translating them may vary. Some may be easy, while others may seem impossible. But strange things can happen, and I hope my blog may play a small role in urging these works to be translated.
Benedikt Gröndal
Benedikt Sveinbjarnarson Gröndal (1827-1907) was a Renaissance man in the sense that he was a man of many talents. He was an excellent self-taught illustrator and made hundreds of drawings of animals and plants, notably his great collection Birds of Iceland, featuring an overview of known Icelandic birds. Gröndal was a linguist and translator who translated the Iliad from Greek to Icelandic. He was a natural scientist and, indeed, the first president of the Natural Science Association of Iceland. He collected biological specimens and wrote textbooks on natural history. Gröndal was also a poet of the romantic school, a novelist, a short story writer and a playwright. He was also a humorous writer and could be wonderfully funny.
Gröndal was born at Bessastaðir, the son of poet, teacher and schoolmaster Sveinbjörn Egilsson, best known for his translation of Silent Night, which to this very day are the lyrics Icelanders sing to the hymn. Sveinbjörn was an excellent translator in his own right, translating the Odyssey from Greek to Icelandic. Bessastaðir is where our president now resides.
The house where Gröndal lived during his last years, formerly in Vesturgata, still stands but is now located in the Grjótaþorp neighbourhood and known as Gröndalshús. There used to be a small exhibition about Gröndal, but the house is now closed to the general public. It is, however, operated and rented out as a writers’ retreat.
Aside from his wonderful illustrations, which are way overdue for republication and absolutely need to be published in English as well, the two works by Gröndal that are considered to have aged best are his autobiography Dægradvöl (Pastime) and the novel Heljarslóðaorusta.
Dægradvöl
Dægradvöl is widely considered to be one of the best written autobiographies in Iceland. It gives a very good if very subjective portrait of Gröndal’s life and times, with great descriptions and candidness, indeed often with brutal honesty. Gröndal was not one to suffer fools or slights gladly and did not mince words. Just like he could be wonderfully funny and earnest, he could also be grumpy and bitter, and there is a tragic element there as well, as it seems apparent from reading the book that Gröndal suffered from depression. Self-doubt, anxiety and a constant desire for recognition and praise, warmth and encouragement permeates the work as well.
My intellect is of no extraordinary sensibility, but I always remember what I read or write, most everything, but not ad verbatim by heart, except some things by chance. My imagination is lively and ripping, and though I’m considered eccentric and strange, I’ve always been able to reign myself in more than many would think, if they knew me completely. My ideas have always followed me, I’ve never lost sight of them, and they have never faded, although I’ve had to wait for years. I’m a workhorse when it comes to reading and quick to understand, but when it comes to writing I am uneven, depending on what catches me; the ideas sometimes roll onto me so quickly that I’m overwhelmed and miss out on half of them. This actually comes as a result of me having read all kinds of writings, but I’ve never taken anything from anything without attributing it.
– Benedikt Gröndal, Dægradvöl. English translation: Einar Steinn Valgarðsson.
Heljarslóðarorusta
Heljarslóðarorusta (The Battle of Hel’s Path) is a comic tale inspired by true events. The historical background is the Battle of Solferino in 1859 between Austria and France and the events surrounding it. Napoleon III is indeed the main character. But what Gröndal does so brilliantly is that he writes in the style of a comic legendary saga, complete with archaic language and a juxtaposition of the lofty and the down-to-earth, the grand and the provincial, which provides a great source of humour. A lot of the humour is tied up with the language and locality, but I still hope that it can be translated one day. I have attempted to translate two examples of his humour myself. The first is from a layout of the world in the style of Snorri Sturluson’s Prose Edda:
West of Iceland lies the Atlantic Ocean; there lies Iceland, there is the Þjóðólfur newspaper[1] and there is the great sheep scab pest.[2]
The other is when Napoleon is getting ready for battle and meets French historian and politician Thiers in the palace garden:
The imperial couple met Thiers in the garden. Thiers was carrying the first volume of the history of the revolution and was scowling, because he had found a typing error in the book, le instead of de, and thought ill of this, if people got the idea to compare his revolution history with Þjóðólfur magazine.
“Greetings, Thiers,” said Napoleon.
“Greetings to you, my dear Napoleon,” said Thiers.
“Well, how do you like the look of me now?” said Napoleon.
“Good,” said Thiers.
Aren’t my weapons rather soldier-like,” said Napoleon.
“Yes, said Thiers.
“Isn’t this a beautiful helmet?” said Napoleon.
“Yes, said Thiers.
“Isn’t that a beautiful shield,” said Napoleon.
“Yes,” said Thiers.”
“How do you like the painting of the lion on it? Isn’t its left leg rather short?” said Napoleon?”
“Yes, said Thiers.
“Isn’t that a fair spear?” said Thiers.”
“Yes,” said Thiers.
Aren’t my grand boots warrior-like?” said Napoleon?
“Yes,” said Thiers.
“And then I’ve got a damn big sailor’s sweater that farmer Ófeigur at Fjall[3] which Þjóðólfur gave to me,” said Napoleon.
“That is so, said Thiers.
“I don’t think I’ll be getting wet in this sweater,” said Napoleon.
“Aye,” said Thiers.
“Well, what a damn grump you are being, Thiers,” said Napoleon.
“Ah,” said Thiers.
“Yes, you only reply in monosyllables,” said Thiers.”
“Hm,” said Thiers.
„How do you think this will all turn out,” said Napoleon.
“I don’t know,”said Thiers.
“Well, good day to you Thiers.”
“Good day to you, my dear Napoleon,” said Thiers.
– Benedikt Gröndal, Heljarslóðarorusta. English translation: Einar Steinn Valgarðsson.
