A book I read … Out Stealing Horses (Per Petterson)
Posted under Books I love
I was slow to get to this book. A friend thrust it in to my hand back in the Autumn with a cheery, “I think you’ll love it”. That’s all the recommendation I need from a trusted source. I stashed it away and promptly lost it. Just as I was becoming mildly anxious about it, it revealed itself to me on the bookshelf and I took that as a sign that its turn had come.
There’s a quietness to Out Stealing Horses, a stillness that puts me in mind of Miss Smilla’s Feeling for Snow, Cold Mountain and The Girl with Glass Feet (oh I loved that book, must re-read). Naturally, being unable to recall the details of any book that I’ve read within weeks of having finished it, I can’t tell you why. But if you’ve read any of those books, then you’ll understand what I mean about the stillness, the long lines. Out Stealing Horses is set in Norway, and weaves its story between the present day and immediately after WWII. The story is narrated by Trond, a teenager in the post-war years and now a man in his late 60s. Trond’s relationship with his father is the focus of the plot, and the life-long influence and implications of a tragedy to which both Trond and his father are party to (albeit indirectly). Actually the plot seems secondary to the beautiful, lyrical language of the book and its thoughtful observations. It’s far from purple prose, but the parred down descriptions of the Norwegian countryside together with the lack of any substantial analysis of the protagonists’ personalities and motives make for a very spare, elegant novel.
The other book on the go at the moment is ‘Stop what you’re doing and read this‘, which I mentioned last week. In it, Mark Haddon (he of ‘The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time) mentions that the pleasure of reading is “rarely about plot, which is probably why I can’t remember what happens even in some of my favourite novels”. Ah, perhaps that’s my issue too? Certainly Out Stealing Horses isn’t plot driven, though what it is that pushes it along instead is hard to define. Very possibly its elegant language. Haddon, in the same essay, says that find its hard to “fall utterly in love with novels in translation”. He says that a novel in which the words are used “merely to convey a story seems to me a waste of words. I want to hear the instrument cherished and played exquisitely”. Of course I can’t know if Out Shooting Horses is a fine translation or not but, regardless, it’s certainly not a waste of words.
I’m now half way through The Reader (Bernhard Schlink), again a translation. The translation seems more apparent than in Out Shooting Horses, or perhaps I’m more attuned to it with Haddon’s thoughts rattling around in my mind. But the plot is more engaging, and the language less compelling.
Out Stealing Horses…B++
I think i need to borrow it. I love the whole scandi thing although i never finished miss smilla. although i need to read my book on fonts first ;-) did you realize that mr Gil Sans was having an incestuous relationship? no, me either and now i can’t ever embrace his sans font again…
and while i’m talking fonts. i don’t like that on the book cover.
I really enjoyed this book, too, and like you, I don’t remember the “plot” very well (I read it over a year ago, and the 50+ brain is like a sieve)but I remember the mood and the lovely writing. That’s how it is with the other 2 Petterson books I’ve read.
I liked the Reader (far more than I did the film of it) and that point about the translation is interesting, I think German struggles to not be translated in a slightly clunky way, too close to English perhaps?
So are you saying to put this on the list?