‘She just stands watching the two boys. They are still children, but the war, of which they remember barely anything and yet cannot forget, has cast a shadow over them that causes their childhood age to lose its meaning. They are already carrying the darkness of adulthood. They are children in camouflage.’

This book is the first in a trilogy (parts 2 and 3 have already been published in Norway) by acclaimed author Lars Saabye Christensen. Having previously read 3 of his works I was super-excited to get hold of this, and it certainly lives up to expectations. This is, in essence, a love letter to Oslo, its people – especially the women – and to a nation, emerging from the terrible consequences of occupation during the Second World War and a devastated economy. The novel opens in 1957 with the death of King Haakon, and then jumps back in time to 1947. The central figures of the novel are the Kristoffersen family: father Ewald, his wife Maj, and their children Jesper and Stine, who is born later in the novel. In truth, it is the area around Kirkeveien that is the main ‘character’, and the people who live and work there, from the butcher and his son, to the Kristoffersen’s upstairs neighbour, to the school teacher Lokke and the Italian immigrant Enzo. As their lives intertwine and stories develop, it is Jesper who is the one who binds them all together. He is a wonderfully created character; overly-sensitive to sounds but with a natural talent for music, he is often taken for being a bit slow, or sullen. As with much of Christensen’s novels it is a way of directing our view of events, seen through the eyes of a young(ish) child, usually a boy, which helps us to re-interpret how we, as adults, live our lives.

Interspersed with the narrative is an ongoing celebration of the work of the Red Cross in this post-war country. Minutes of meetings are given throughout, which in many ways quietly yet movingly pay tribute to the work of this extraordinary charity, but also gives a subtle insight into the lives of many people struggling to cope in these hard times. There are also, again in a quietly unforced way, genuinely funny moments as the ‘impartial’ notes give way to personal comments and opinions.

Nothing much happens, and that’s the joy of this novel. It is the small things that matter: the arrival of a telephone in the Kristoffersen’s apartment; piano lessons; selling stamps for the charity; a gentle love-affair between two widowed neighbours. There is joy and beauty in the smallest things, like a snowman in the backyard or the sound of church bells. There is a sense of the place, of the city, as there is in Joyce’s ‘Ulysses’, as we follow our characters down streets and hills and passed specific buildings. It is also profoundly moving, and I defy anyone to remain dry-eyed at certain moments.

Christensen is one of my favourite contemporary writers and, if this first book of the trilogy is anything to go by, this will stand as his defining work. For anyone who calls a city or a place ‘home’, you will recognise the people and the stories. The themes are universal, the stories deeply personal, and always it is written in such a lyrical prose that you can just lose yourself in the rhythm of the words:
‘Summer plunges this city even deeper between the mountain ridges while raising those people who remain after the others have gone, raising them into a majestic loneliness. Summer here isn’t a season. Summer is a moment in time.’
(And here, this is the moment to highlight the extraordinary translation by Dan Bartlett, always an excellent reader of tone and nuance in the original work.)

Glorious, epic in its attention to the small things in life, this book deserves to be read. I, for one, cannot wait for parts 2 and 3 to get an English translation. ( )