Norwegian literature

I like this article about the impact of Norwegian literature on the international stage over the past decade or so—culminating maybe with Jon Fosse's Nobel Prize in Literature this past year.

My experience with Norwegian literature extends pretty much as far as Ibsen and no further. But articles like this—and Fosse's Nobel Prize!—have prompted me to line up some modern Norwegian writers for the long evenings going into this year's quiet holidays.

I also particularly like this description of Norwegian literature:

Norwegian literature as a whole, on the other hand, could be reduced to a very different kind of caricature, one that might help explain some of its relative success abroad. Norwegian novels are toned down, rarely noticeably conceptual, rarely in direct conversation with theory or tradition. Here, you find page after page of plot driven middle-class angst, minimalism and melancholy, closeness to nature, mellowness, humility, and what presents itself as stripped-down honesty. Here and there a funny novel does appear, but when it does, it’s usually funny in a purely observational and demonstratively folksy way.

Now that's the kind of book I want to curl up with!

by M. R. James

Read this short horror story on the advice of The New York Times Book Review podcast and I have to say that it was categorically not good.

The premise is a little bit spooky, if a little overdone: some hapless chump comes across an ancient artefact and accidentally uses it to invoke a spirit that haunts him. The conceit of the ancient artefact being a whistle is kind of fun, and I liked how it's described as putting images in your head.

Spoilers from here on out.

The payoff at the end, however, is a bit of a disappointment. Parkins, the protagonist, suffers a long, sleepless, and nightmarish evening directly after blowing the whistle, haunted by visions of being chased by a white ghoul. Being an avowed anti-spiritualist, he obstinately refuses to connect the dots, and berates his golfing partner for suggesting there might be an otherworldly component to his haunting. The next night, Parkins is visited by the ghost, which wraps itself up in bedclothes and sorta shuffles around the room, nearly forcing Parkins out the window, before the golfing partner's unlikely intercession causes the phantom to flee. The whistle that summoned the ghost in the first place is promptly chucked into the sea, and everything goes back to normal:

"Exactly what explanation was patched up for the staff and visitors at the hotel I must confess I do not recollect. The Professor [Parkins] was somehow cleared of the ready suspicion of delirium tremens, and the hotel of the reputation of a troubled house."

The story ends with the claim that the ghost was actually not that dangerous at all, and was probably a Catholic, anyway:

"... it is not so evident what more the creature that came in answer to the whistle could have done than frighten. There seemed to be absolutely nothing material about it save the bedclothes of which it had made itself a body. The Colonet, who remembered a not very dissimilar occurrence in India, was of opinion that if Parkins had closed with it it could really have done very little, and that its one power was that of frightening. The whole thing, he said, served to confirm his opinion of the Church of Rome."

Out running with Striders on Monday and Wednesday, which felt positive. Still impressed with how much better I feel after spending a little time small-talking with folks. The running probably helps. Resolve to get involved in cross-country this winter; resolve to get good & clarty.

Ran home from some errands in Hartlepool on Friday, and attended the Durham parkrun the following morning. I should have given myself a bit more time to recover.

Slept in on Sunday and took the motorbike down to Ellerton Park for a bit of open-water swimming. The Big Lime Triathlon's coming up next weekend and I hadn't done any swimming since Castle Howard a few weeks ago. I struggled for the first 10 minutes or so, but found my rhythm eventually. Not going to have that sort of luxury at the Big Lime: 10 minutes in I'll hopefully be more than halfway done. I'll go back down to Ellerton sometime this week for a bit more practice.

Reasonably productive at home, as well: installed a new overhead light in the office downstairs, to replace an awful old chrome thing that got molten hot when you left it on for more than half an hour. One of the lights upstairs has stopped working, though, and I can't figure out why. You win some, you lose some. I'll call an electrician this week to come have a look at it.

Sam's been hard at work sorting out projects as well: she's laid a bunch of wood flooring and re-installed architraves and skirting boards in the hallways. It's been on our list of things to do for years, probably, at this point, and she's been smashing through it with zeal. It looks incredible and goes a long way towards making the house feel ours. I guess that's what middle-class people say when they undertake home renovation. It makes a difference, I promise.

Otherwise: all quiet. We've been very slowly making our way through The Last of Us, the TV series. Bella Ramsey is such a good actress. I'm impressed, as well, at how each episode builds on side characters from the games—Ellie and Joel are almost background characters in the dramas of the game's NPCs. They've done a really fantastic job with it.

On the reading front, I've been making my way through Eragon, a book I read back in high school. After a series of slightly more difficult books I wanted something easy and sort of nostalgic. I remember thinking, back when I first read it, that it was good but not compelling enough to prompt me to pick up any of its sequels. It continues to be uncompelling, but I no longer think it's any good, either.

Phil Gyford (spotted most recently on Hacker News for his ooh.directory site) is back at it again with The Diary of Samuel Pepys. The Diary (the blog) updates each day with the corresponding entry from Samuel Pepys's Diary (the diary), 363 years earlier. So the entry for Tuesday 3 January 1660 will be posted at the end of today, 3 January 2023.

The blog contains more than just the diary, however—it also features an encyclopedia of people, events, and things from Pepys's time, along with excerpts from relevant letters sent to or by Pepys.

We're officially on the Third Reading of the Diary—the First Reading started in January 2002, and the Second in January 2013. The Diary spans a period of 9 years and 5 months (after which Pepys stopped writing for fear that it was damaging his eyesight). We're in it for the long haul!

The Diary of Samuel Pepys