Olaf OlafssonCritiques

What do brilliant, prepossessing people and (their) literature have in common? Both are able to change the minds and hearts of people. The Sacrament by Olaf Olafsson did no less than that for me.
This is even more surprising as I generally have a hard time identifying myself with a protagonist whose orientation and character is virtually diametrically opposite to my own. Although Olaf Olafsson’s Sister Joanna is such a character, I find myself thoroughly intrigued, again. When in the sparse, unadorned prose of the author - Olafsson manages here the so sought-after but not often acquired casual effectiveness of a great literary writer - Sister Joanna opens to us her emotional life, her joys and preoccupations, I am hooked. ​​​​​​​​​​ Women, men, old, young or undead, straight or gay, this author manages to connect us, to understand each other through those poignant strands that weave together into that we call human condition. What is the definition of great literature? Exactly that – in my humble opinion.
Excerpt: “Batman would save him, just as he had so often in the past, and together they would set off on an adventure, down streets and alleyways, to the harbor and out over the city—ready to assist anyone who might be in distress. The boy held his breath as his friend took to the air. Bracing his elbows on the sill, he lifted himself up to watch the dark figure swoop down from the tower, wings flapping. For a moment, he felt a surge of hope, as well as the thrill of confirmation, for he had always feared that Batman existed only in his comic books and his imagination. But then, in the blink of an eye, his hopes were dashed, as his hero's wings appeared to falter, and he flipped over and plummeted, landing on the turf with a dull thud.”
In a perverse case of inverted dramatic irony, through the eyes of a young boy, we witness a priest tumbling to his death from a church tower but are not told by the narrator, Sister Joanna, as to the role she plays in the incident. Initiated by this terrible incident, we are treated to a solid yet imaginative plotline told from Sister Joanna’s perspective reminiscent of a duel between the past and present as she tells her story flailing and riposting back and forth through time. What makes it even more enticing is the boy’s suffering at the hands of an overzealous, self-righteous mother superior and the convent school’s headmaster remain shrouded and shadowy not only to the protagonist but also to the reader until the last chapter when said boy had grown to be a man.
In the meantime, Sister Joanna shares with the reader her first realizations of her “otherness” and the alienation this brought with it in a time when being “straight” was the only sexual orientation accepted. Growing up in the 1960s as Pauline, the young woman was barred from asking straightforward questions which were taboo in a typical family of the time when same-sex love was by law considered criminal. In an attempt to understand her own feelings, Pauline attempts to understand her “otherness” by reading all the books she can find on the then closeted subject. When she meets a young Islandic woman in Paris, a beautiful love story develops which Pauline eventually feels forced to sacrifice on the altar of social acceptability. Pressured into social conformity, she feels the only way out of “sin” is for her to isolate herself in a cloister, become Sister Joanna and have faith in God who will let her overcome her “sin against humanity and God”.
But the past leaves indelible marks on us, and it certainly does not remain at rest, so when 20 years later Sister Joanna reflects on “both the alleys of joy and the furrows of despair she was allowed to walk through the grace of God” an anonymous letter forces her to confront the past, once more. I will leave it at that as this ought to be a review not to be a spoiler masked as a summary.
This reader then brings to the point Olafsson assertion with the following aphorism: “The past never returns – it doesn’t have to for it never leaves.”
Literary devices such as flashbacks, memories and the steps we take to deal with them are the salt of any writer worth his craft but Olaf Olafsson shows us in his subtle yet so brilliant ways how subjective our memory really is. It is not the factual past that influences and affects our present condition, rather it is our take on it, which is in turn dictated to us by our memories – as faulty and incomplete as they often are. In the end, this reader is left to wonder: What is the true nature of my faith when I cannot even trust my own memory and by extension my own past.

In this sparse, slightly mysterious novel, the narrator, Disa, decides to return to Iceland at the end of her life. She has been living in England, running a bed and breakfast with her companion, Anthony. Leading up to and during the journey back, she reflects on the major events of her life. These include her troubled relationship with her mother and sister and the disappearance, presumed death, of her first love who was a German Jew during WWII.

At first I couldn't get into this. Disa isn't particularly likeable. Also, the timeline shifts all over the place as her memories come up. It sometimes took me a couple sentences to figure out which life event she was talking about after a shift. But her story grew on me and I ended up really liking this.½

Young Icelander moves to London for university, drops out, finds a job in a Japanese restaurant, falls in love with the proprietor's daughter. She disappears; lovers are parted, live separate lives in separate countries for nearly fifty years. Plot line switches from past to present as he strives to find his 'one true love' once more.

Restoration is a novel of two women both being haunted by mistakes from their pasts, brought together by circumstances to a villa in Tuscany, which eventually turns into the frontline in a battle between the retreating Germans and The Allied forces during World War Two. There's a passage very close to the end that sums up the novel very well for me. "But our problems were trivial in the scheme of things. We can see that now that the world lies in ruins." Both these women were in the middle of a war zone and yet spent most of their time so focused on the ghost of their pasts that I eventually began to find these musings quite tedious. And I find my self wondering why the author included this line about the characters trivial problems, when that was pretty much the entire theme of the novel.

Olaf Olafsson's Walking into the Night will draw inevitable comparisons to Kazuo Ishiguro's The Remains of the Day, both of which have butlers as their protagonists. While both deal with conflicted manservants' inner anxieties and failures in the midst of a changing global crisis—Ishiguro's novel focuses on the build up to the Second World War in Britain whereas Olafsson's focuses on the years just prior to this in America, emphasizing more the Depression's impact on celebrities—they are very different in their treatment of their protagonists' inner lives.

Stevens, in The Remains of the Day, has reflections about his childhood, but his anxieties and stalemates are located uncannily in his place of work. By contrast, Kristjan's reflections are of a lost world that is no longer available to him geographically or emotionally, except in dreams and memories. I could say more about the two novels' similarities and differences, but I suppose that would then see me repeated the critical move of joining the two so simply and irrevocably. I think that any novel that has a male butler as its protagonist, especially given the brilliant portrayal of Stevens's conflict by Ishiguro, will always be compared to The Remains of the Day. Ishiguro has, in essence, created a subgenre all his own, then.

To return to Olafsson:

Kristjan is unfailing at his duties as Chief Hearst's butler, but his nagging conscience, the mistakes that he has made in the past, his regrets and his isolation (not least of which is underscored by his choice to move from Iceland to California, from a job of power to a job of service) soon interfere with his typically by-rote existence at the San Simeon castle.

In stark, spare, and unrelentingly gutting prose, Olafsson shifts the point of view here in a way that gives the reader increasing glimpses into the interior life of his main character, and then by turns to Elisabet, the woman whom he has left behind and to whom he writes letters he will never send. The idea of confession is very intriguing here: how the person to whom Kristjan feels he must confess is the one person he will never see again.

Bleak but beautifully imagined, Walking into the Night is a meditation on love, loss, and the myriad regrets we make as we go on about our lives. Olafsson is a master at rendering place, especially outdoor scenes, and also in insisting on how tiny gestures (the closing of a door, the gathering of blossoms, a finger tracing a lover's spine) can convey the emotional and psychological states of people more succinctly and accurately than words can.

The first thing to know going into this is it moves very slowly, going back and forth in time without warning even mid paragraph. Knowing this now, I couldn’t put this down. The writing is incredible and the story will keep unfurling especially since you don’t always know who is speaking or what time we are in even with a single narrator. What I mean is the sister will often go back into her report and her thoughts remembering the dialog, but we are always with her.

It is a twisty story of love, priestly sexual assault, murder, and cover up. Not knowing which time sister is in keeps the reader on their toes.

I can’t say I loved it, but it is definitely worth reading.

Set during the initial days of the recent pandemic, Kristófer, a seventy-five-year-old widower living in Iceland closes his restaurant and goes off in search of his first love, Miko, a Japanese-British woman he has not seen in fifty years. The narrative follows his journey to London and Hiroshima, mentioning the travel restrictions, masks, and new pandemic-related customs (remember putting stuffed animals in the windows for the children walking by?) As the story progresses, the reader becomes aware that Kristófer may not be the most reliable narrator, not due to deception but to difficulties in recalling the past. His doctor believes he may have a condition that is causing his memory to deteriorate.

The author writes in an elegant, yet understated manner. We get to know the protagonist in two stages of life – his youth when in love with Miko, and his later life as he travels to attempt to reconnect with her. They had kept their relationship a secret from her father, and Miko and her father had disappeared suddenly for reasons unknown to Kristófer.

The primary theme is memory, loss of it, gaps in it, and how people remember the same events differently. The narrative is driven by the quest to find Miko and the unveiling of the reason behind her sudden disappearance all those years ago. The tone is wistful. It is not for anyone looking for “action.” It is for those who like quiet novels with emphasis on deeply drawn believable characters and their thoughts.

It should be said that Olafsson is one of my favorite authors and I have read everything he has written that is in English. He writes intimate, empathetic stories which plumb the depths of the human soul (while keeping the books relatively short).

Touch is a mere 259 pages and sells the story of an older man, Kristofer, whose memory is failing. While attempting to deal with his health issues, he receives a communication from Japan – an old girlfriend he dated back in the 60s when they were both students in London. He has mixed of feelings but decides to fly to Japan to see her….

This is a story of the past, the present, love, regret, and myster½

I enjoyed being in the protagonist's head, but the pacing was way too slow for such an obvious conclusion.

This was so good. The author effectively portrays how the Catholic Church covered up sexual abuse and all the people and processes that were used to do that covering up: refusal to actually deal with the letter, passing the investigation on to someone who isn't really trained in that kind of work, the bullying of the perpetrator and his enablers, manipulation by the higher ups. Yes, it's fiction but still so accurate. Sister Johanna is victim as well but doesn't truly comprehend it due to the power of Raffin and his manipulation in the name of protecting the Church and himself.

Búinn að uppgötva að ég hef ekki lesið nóg af bókum eftir Ólaf Jóhann. Hugljúfur söknuður hvílir yfir sögunni allri um leið og margþættur og flókinn söguþráðurinn heldur lesandanum föngnum. Ung frönsk kona glímir við hvatir sem samfélagið fyrirlítur og leitar á náðir trúarinnar. Síðar er hún send til Íslands til að rannsaka eða hylja hroðalegar ásakanir í garð kaþólska skólans. Ávallt flakkar sagan fram og aftur í tíma eftir því sem konan rifjar upp fortíðina. Ólafur Jóhann fjallar á ljúfan máta um sekt, sakleysi, ást, yfirhylmingu og síðast en ekki síst trú einstaklingsins í erfiðum tímum.

An expatriate Icelander in NYC is asked to translate a manuscript found in a safe. The author is the recently deceased Peter Peterson, a fellow expatriate; who was an extremely wealthy businessman; and a cunning, sinister, and rather nasty old man. The manuscript is Peterson’s first person story of his life. It begins….

“My sins will not be forgiven; I do not ask forgiveness and forgive nothing myself. I have nothing to lose; no one can take anything from me which has not already slipped my grasp, All is vanity…”

You, the potential reader, may wonder why one would read, or continue in a book where the protagonist is so awful, and I certainly asked myself the same, several times; but there is something terribly compelling about this story. Was he always this repellant, emotionally wounded person? Peter’s tale takes us back to his childhood in Iceland, his years as a young man in German-occupied Denmark, and finally to his adult years in Manhattan. What has he done? Will he face it? And can there be absolution as the title might suggest?

Olafsson tells compelling character-driven stories with uncomplicated themes. His characters are intimately-written, humans with a capital “H”. With this novel, Olafsson’s first, I have now read all of his current literary oeuvre (8 books) and will need to wait until later this year for his next book.½

Beautifully read by Jane Copland. That's what kept me going when the story confused me. Skipping between time periods and places? or did I miss something that would have made this understandable? The investigation in Iceland moves painfully slowly in the retelling by the nun. Her own recollections of how she felt don't push the story forward enough to give all that detail. A pity, I think this could have been a most interesting story with great settings. But I threw in the towel just over half way through.

Although it’s been only a few weeks since I finished this book, we’ve had a lot of disruption recently, so I’m not sure I can compose a proper review; however, I do not want to put this book away without the recommendation it deserves.

Written in first person, this fine novel probes the relationships that one man, Magnus, a New York neurologist, has with three women. One woman is a mysterious comatose patient, another is his pianist mother, and the third is his co-worker and lover. This is an intimate tale of communication and connection that lingers long after one finishes the book.

I’ve said it before in other reviews of his work, Olafsson seems to write his characters with great empathy, resulting in intimate, internal stories—and this story is no exception. Interestingly, this book begins with Magnus getting a co-worker to medically, temporarily, (illegally!) paralyze him for two hours so he can experience what his comatose patient experienced.

I’ve now read all of Olafsson’s works, six novels and one short story collection, and am hoping something new will be coming out soon.½

Jane F recommend this novel of a man and 3 women but it was unexpected psychological exploration of Magnus’ relationship with doctor colleagues, his parents, and Argentine girlfriend. Magnus was stunted psychologically and the events told in the book works through this. It’s a good read.

Getting older, learning to live with the past, standing on the rocks of the walls you've crashed through and those you've tried to build, is a bear. You can't tell anyone younger what it means and anyone you know your own age not only knows but is busily trying to tidy the dust off their scratched, bloody feet.

When what you've seen, felt, done no longer matters to anyone but you...polite avowals of interest are never to be presumed upon...then Life can't take anything else from you and your fears just melt. Sad, isn't it, that the murder hornets whose wings only flap when they have a head of rage built up, never just...leave it. Their stings don't land; their rage grows. The worst has already happened, and a surprising number of people have learned from their own lives that the loud, angry buzz of Being Right heralds nothing but unpleasant tasting and smelling poison.

There is an amazing sweetness in indifference. Court it.

Favorite quotes:

The path to truth lies amid the long winding passageways of the soul, where fear and hope do battle with each other.
–and–
It is not difficult to show kindness to those we love, or even to strangers who might be in distress; it is easy to show relative consideration. The real test comes when we must forgive those who have done us harm, show love to our enemy. It is a test of our faith, our strength of mind.
–and–
I regret nothing. Was I talking to her or to myself—or to you, who watch over us without mercy, waiting for us to sin? Was I comforting myself or declaring war on you? Who knows? And nor should you, I said, and walked out.

½

I'm not sure if I've read a book that was as lyrically written as this one. Olafsson is a masterful weaver of words. It is as if he is communicating to us in the language of silk about things that are heaviest and most painful to us. It's breathtaking writing.

[The Journey Home] by Olaf Olafsson

I recently finished this excellent, soulful book about a woman, Disa, who is told she has about a year left of her life and decides to return to her homeland and deal with her psychological baggage, so to speak. I have been lately addicted to Olafsson’s compassionate writing and ordered a used copy of this book not realizing I already had a paperback copy on my shelves. Had I read it before? I wasn’t sure, and as I read it again, some of it did seem familiar.

This morning, as I prepared to write a review, I went to the book’s page and noticed there was already a short review there that I had written in 2008! I agree with everything I said back then, but the difference between then and now is me. I am twelve years older and like the book’s heroine, Disa, I have more years behind me than ahead of me. Disa is a wonderfully imperfect woman working through her history. The story, written in Disa’s voice in a journaling style, is still an engrossing read. NOTE: terrible cover art for this book½

A collection of twelve stories—one for each month of the year—which capture moments in various kinds of relationships in which the true heart is laid bare.

As an example, in one particular story, a middle-aged couple—Jenny and Karl— go on a ski trip. We learn a bit of background in that they have been unable to have children, and have pursued adoption, but after difficulties with the process the two seem to agree to stop. Meanwhile, back at the ski lodge, Karl injures himself in the lodge gym, but encourages Jenny to continue to enjoy the ski vacation on the slopes. While she is skiing, the limping Karl, who doesn’t seem a terribly sympathetic character, makes conversation with another vacationer and his young son. As they converse, Karl casually invents a fictional son to talk about. Of course, when Jenny returns she is not aware of this and inadvertently outs him. Here the reader is, with the characters, in a tense, uncomfortable spot. The temptation might be to think Karl a fool and judge him harshly, but instead one sees his raw vulnerability because clearly, deep down, he still badly wants a child.

I found this collection addictive from the very beginning but rather than racing through it, I read one story each evening. As with other collections, some stories are better than others. The collection is a must read for Olafsson fans; bit also for readers of intelligent, poignant and affecting fiction.½

Restoration is set in the waning days of the Second World War, as the Germans retreated through Italy and is largely set on a fattoria where Alice, estranged from her husband after the tragic death of her son, works to keep everything going and the tenants, workers and the children evacuated from cities further south fed and safe. There are partisans in the woods, who periodically take shelter with the more outlying tenant farms and she's been coerced into hiding a painting for the Germans. Kristin arrives at the fattoria after being injured in an explosion on the train she was in and remains even after her wounds are healing. She's left behind an unhappy love affair and a secret that could destroy the man she once loved.

Restoration is a novel with an old-fashioned feel to it. There isn't a modern story bracketing the one set in the 1940s and it's told in a clear straight-forward manner. This was an enjoyable and engrossing read and while I don't think it will stay with me very long, I'd be happy enough to read something else by Olafsson.½

Restoration, which is set in Italy during WWII, tells the story of two women. The first, Alice, a daughter of wealthy British ex-pats, shockingly marries an Italian landowner. The other, Kristin, is a young, Belgian ex-pat and very talented art restorer who is in Rome working for a Renaissance expert and dealer named Robert Marshall. Alice and her husband are renovating their villa in Tuscany, but after the loss of a child, she has a untimely affair that she will regret. Kristin will become involved with her boss and do things that that she will also regret.

As the war moves around and over them, the women carry on in individual storylines with hints of connection. Eventually, Kristin will seek shelter from the fighting at Alice’s villa.

Apologies for a rather dry description of the main characters and plot, but I wish not to give much away. There is something about this wonderful, sad, immersive story of women, love, art and war, that one really should discover in reading the book itself rather than in a review. Olafsson, another author who writes with great empathy and compassion, tells a remarkable tale here that will mesmerize the reader. One only has to look at the striking cover to see what awaits.

This may be Olafsons’ best novel, but hard to say as they are all different. I love his writing enough to have chased down all of his work, with a few left still left to read.

Magnus Colin Conyngham is a research neurologist living in NYC and commuting to Connecticut. He is in deep mourning over the death of Malena, his love of 18 months. Her death and the nature of their relationship is slowly revealed as the story progresses.

His work involves studying comatose patients and their ability to respond to verbal directions. He begins to obsess over one female patient whose identity is unknown and has been transported to the study from Arizona.

He is also mourning the death of Malena, his love of 18 months. Her death and the nature of their relationship is slowly revealed as the story progresses.

As an only child, his relationship with his parents is strained. His Icelandic mother is a classical pianist who is tempermental and remote. His father has spent his life catering to the emotional neediness of the mother, often at the expense of Magnus.

The story is written in a stream of consciousness fashion with Magnus recording his thoughts and reactions to people and events. He is depressed and detached, while being drawn to those who are remote and inaccessible.

An important clue in the book is where he twice mentioned a therapist who suggested he take a questionnaire to determine whether he is on the autism spectrum.

Sister Johanna learned to speak Icelandic when she and Halla roomed together in school many years ago. About twenty years in ago, she made a trip to Iceland to investigate alleged abuse in the school. Two events marked that time. The parish priest fell from the bell tower during her visit, and she found a boy in a broom closet. In the present she goes back to Iceland to talk with a young man who wishes to speak specifically with her although she'd rather remain at her convent tending the her rose garden and minding her dog George Harrison. The story weaves between the time periods. It can be difficult to distinguish if one doesn't pay attention to the text breaks. The beautifully written text paints a poignant picture of the understated abuse and of reflection on an unpleasant time. Sister Johanna's struggles with sexuality emerge as a secondary theme in the book.

Set in Iceland and Paris, Sister Johanna is sent back to Iceland to re-investigate a allegations of abuse that she had investigated 20 years earlier. The story moves through three different time periods that were sometimes confusing in audiobook format.
The story is classic Scandinavian noir which I quite enjoyed.

The Scarament. Olaf Olafsson. 2019. I rushed to read this because I was so taken with the Olafsson’s Restoration. What could I not like about a book that features a nun investigating a possible crime of abuse that is set in Iceland? It is told in flashbacks, and that is confusing at times as Sister Joanna’s memory blends with the present. It is beautifully written. The descriptions of winter in Iceland and the time Sister studied in Paris made me feel like I was there. The horrors of abuse are made even more horrible by the understated way they are described. I am not sure I agree with the resolution, but I have a better understanding of Sister’s motives.