Jón Kalman Stefánsson was born in Reykjavík on December 17th 1963. When he was still young, his mother prematurely died and, because of this, he moved with his father to Keflavík, in the southwestern part of the island; Keflavík is a town that has become central in his literary imagination and, in fact, it would return again and again in the plots of his novels. Before becoming a writer, however, he experienced different jobs: first, he worked as a high school literature teacher, and then as a librarian at the Mosfellsbær Library[1], near the Icelandic capital. It is since the 2000s that he has become a full-time writer. His debut in 1988 with the collection of poems Með byssuleyfi á eilífðina[2] established him as a leading figure on the international literary scene, giving rise to a very brilliant career. Although he started out as a poet, however, Stefánsson is also an excellent novelist: his novels have been nominated multiple times for the Nordic Council Literary Prize, and with the novel Sumarljós og svo kemur nóttin[3] (Summer Light, and Then Comes the Night[4]) he won the Icelandic Literary Prize. His latest novel published in Italy is Guli Kafbáturinn[5] (My yellow submarine).
Stefánsson has begun his career as a poet and that is why his prose comes across as so musical and rhythmic. Characterized by long sentences, digressions, and reasoning that follow the thread and shape of thoughts, Stefánsson’s writing constantly seeks suggestions that transcend reality and can restore the immediacy and intensity of the wide range of human emotions. This style tries to respond to the frustration the writer experiences when he approaches to the limited nature of language, which is incapable of expressing adequately human feelings. What moves Stefánsson’s creative vein is an irresistible curiosity to investigate what is not transparent and escapes human attempt at understanding. His hallmark is his simple and never contrived style, which takes its starting point from the apparent triviality of everyday objects, and, from them, it creates a universal, existential reflection that has at its center the human being in its infinite complexity. The strength of this writer lies in his ability to render such real and universal sensations while remaining extremely faithful to the land of his birth: in fact, almost all his stories are set in Iceland and are deeply rooted in the island’s culture. What determines the direction of the stories he tells is first and foremost the perspective from which they are observed: sometimes a spirit narrates the events, as in the case of the two novels Fiskarnir hafa enga fætur[6] (The Fish Have No Feet[7]) and Eitthvað á stærð við alheiminn[8] (About the Size of the Universe[9]); at other times, however, the plot unfolds through flashbacks and flashforwards, in a continuous shift along the time axis, as in the novel Saga Ástu[10].
This interview that will follow takes an inductive approach: generally speaking, starting with a few specific cases or passages, the questions sought to refer to the most recurrent themes in Stefánsson’s work, but with the intention of offering a renewed and original interpretive key. The dimension of memory was investigated, since it appears to be one of the most significant aspects of the writer’s literary personality: the task of a writer, which Stefánsson pursues as if it were a mission with which he has been invested, is to stop death and avoid the oblivion to which all things are forced by the inexorable passage of time. It is also true, however, that memories can be dangerous, making their way into our minds and imposing decisions on us that inevitably alter the events of our lives. Only Stefánsson will be able to explain how all this can coexist. Nature is another of the themes analyzed in the interview: an unwieldy nature, against which human beings are forced to fight in a real struggle for survival. Perhaps, this is true especially in the case of Iceland; it is as if Nature on the island has always represented an enemy, just like kings and sovereigns which were taking control in the other nations of Europe. An equally recurring question concerns the bond of love and hate with the native land, that is, the need to move away from the island, in the extreme necessity to establish a distance from it; such feelings are, however, always accompanied by the corresponding desire to return, in the desperate need for a definitive reunion that will restore to the individual forgotten parts of his or her identity. These issues will be framed by a few questions which intend to clarify the literary models from which Stefánsson drew inspiration and the role that the relationship with foreign countries and, in particular, with the United States of America, has played in Iceland’s national history.
It is worth remembering that, with his work, the writer does not in any way intend to create an alternative world that replaces the real one, where to hide by escaping from life: rather, Stefánsson writes to enlarge our world, the one which already exists, to give us a chance to travel through the infinite possibilities that revolve around it. This is his most significant contribution.
In Iceland more than in any other place the human being constantly relates himself with Nature in all its greatness. In the novel Fish have no feet, in the last chapters, the narrator says that the protagonist has grown where “human life is measured by the ocean”. Do you believe there is a power play in this relationship between Nature and Man in Iceland, where the first prevails over the other? Or do you think they stay on the same level?
This relationship has changed a lot in the last hundred years or so. For centuries, or since Iceland was inhabited, the nature and its forces and weather was in a way our greatest threat; just as greedy kings and lords and popes were in Europe. From the 13th century we were more or less free from wars, apart from some disturbance in the first part of the 16th century. That to say, no kings or likes ordered us to go to war, and we had no wars upon us. Our wars were with the nature. Not because it was cruel, but simply because it is harsh; the winter can be hard, we have volcanoes etc. So, our story was the story of survive the nature. That has of course changed, and though the nature here is still overwhelming, and can damage us, we, like other countries, are using the natural resources in Iceland, not always wisely, not always with respect. Sometimes so little, that one has the feeling that we’re taking out our revenge on it… But I think that our feelings towards the nature are in a way more complex than in many other countries; due to our history, and then simply because Iceland is more or less just nature with few people scattered around.
“Sometimes who loves Iceland must get away from it”: in the first pages of the book Fish have no feet the narrator pronounces these words referring to the main character of the book, who left Iceland. It seems that, together with love and attachment to Iceland, there is also some kind of pain and suffering. Can you explain how these feelings can coexist? In addition, what do you think is the reason why a person needs to leave Iceland in order to stay in peace with their homeland? What does this land have that makes it that hard to relate with?
Partly it’s because we live on an island, and I think that it’s common amongst islander to be born with the longing to go away, or at least to travel. Icelander have always been curious about the world, about what lies beyond the horizon; and it’s vital for both an islander and then those who lives in remote place like Iceland, where the society is, because how few we are and alike, not so diverse, to go away for a while, live abroad, and return with new experiences, views and by that enrich our society. And also, and that goes in fact to everyone, doesn’t matter if he lives in USA, Italy, Thailand or Iceland, that you will both understand yourself better living in different places, different culture, and our own country and its culture. By going away, you will gain a comparison, and that will enrich you, and perhaps make you more grateful for your own country.
At the end of your book About the size of the universe the narrator who told the story of Ari and of his return to Iceland dissolves until it merges with the falling snow, to the point that there remains no proof of his existence. Therefore, this voice can be interpreted either as the consciousness of the protagonist himself or as a spirit that guides him through his life. Giorgio Manganelli, an important Italian writer who traveled to Iceland, in the book L’isola pianeta explains how islanders have a strong relationship with spirits and the world that reveals itself through dreams, visions, and premonitions. What relationship do you have with this world? In addition, do you think it would be possible to interpret the narrator of the book as a spirit of this kind?
One thing I know, and that is that we don’t know much. Large part of our brain is a mystery to us; and we don’t even know how we think; how the thought is formed, or what it is, to think. No one has been able to explain that. So, in a way, we are a mystery to our self! And large part of our universe is made by the dark matter, and we don’t have a clue what it is; and then it’s very likely that we have countless of other universes around us. Due to all this, I think it’s impossible to simply reject that some spirits can be find; ghost or whatever we want to call it. A part of me wants to believe in it, because that means that there is something much more than just the matter in our world; and that perhaps there is something that waits for us after our last breath. But we can’t either prove it or disprove it; and that opens many doors! The narrator? Yes, a kind of spirit, or then again; not. But these two can also be a kind of Dante and Virgil…
According to the epilogue of the story of Ari, at the end of the book About the size of the universe, where the father dies and the conversation between the two does not happen, the reader can choose to think that a reconciliation with a person’s past sufferings is not possible, since everything has changed and there is no time for fixing things. Do you agree with this interpretation? Or do you think that is it possible for a person to leave their homeland, to be far away from it for years, and then come back and restart everything from when they left it? Briefly, is the return possible, in your opinion?
Yes and no. I’m not sure that we should hope that we could come back after years, and restart everything, just as nothing has happened. That would be a sad thing, I think. If you go, for some time, you will not be able to return to the same world again – never. Because the years has, should have, must have, changed you; and the same goes to those you left behind. You never step twice in the same water. But that’s not necessarily a negative thing, as long as you are not hoping that nothing has changed. And that’s a dangerous thought, because life should be ever changing, and if you always stand still, something starts to die inside you; and the sparkle in your eyes dies. You can only return if you accept that everything has changed.
Around the middle of the book Fish have no feet you write that cardinal points at Keflavík are four: the wind, the sea, the eternity, and the U.S. army. What role did the American presence play in your country? What does the United States represent for Iceland, also nowadays?
Not easy to answer this in a short way, but one can say without doubt that the American army being here, first in the WWII, and then coming back in 1951, staying to 2006, had a clear, perhaps big, impact on our society. In some way one can assert that the 20th century did not come to Iceland until the war came. Partly because of the activity of the British at first and then the American army; roads were laid, airport built etc. And when they came back in 1951, a lot of jobs followed, they laid more roads, enlarged our airports; money poured in from them. At that time, we only had one radio station, no TV, and they brought both with them; in their radio they played the newest music, both in jazz and rock, and it had a huge influence in our culture. At the same time, there was always strong resistance against their influence; people worried that they would have had too much influence in our culture. We Icelander are more influenced by the USA that, for example, other Nordic countries. Their influence is still there, due to all the films, songs etc., but today mixed with influence from Europe.
Halldór Laxness is considered to be one of the greatest Icelandic writers of all times; he won the Nobel prize in 1955 and his books have shaped the national consciousness of the island. In your career as a writer, did Laxness play an inspirational role? If so, how?
The greatest? Well, I guess one would also name some of the nameless authors of the great Icelandic Sagas, such as Njáls saga, Laxdæla saga etc, but, yes, he’s of course very important for us, and the Nobel prize, given in 1955, only 11 years after we came independent from the Danish, was a huge thing at that time; for Icelanders the prize was also a kind of acknowledgement and approval of our independency. Before the prize, Laxness was a controversial author, people from the right often criticize him, sometimes harsh, but after the prize he was almost untouchable, which is never positive for an artist. I read him a lot as a young man, with stars in my eyes; later I read him more critically. He’s a great writer, or was, he did some fantastic things, but also not so good things. He has his faults. So, he influenced me as a very young writer, but then I grow from him. I respect his legacy, but he’s not been a role for me.
Memories are of great relevance in your art as a writer: they represent the only way people and facts can be remembered in time, and in doing so they also shape our identities, who we are and who we were. In some cases, they can also take control over us and apply a lens through which we see the world we have around differently. This happens to the protagonist of the book Fish have no feet: when he goes back to Iceland, anytime he looks around he sees places and people as they were when he left years before. In addition, one of the reasons why he goes back to his motherland is because he cannot ignore his past anymore: his memories are calling him back, and he cannot help himself but go back to Iceland. In your opinion, are memories dangerous, since they alter perceptions and force us to make some choices, influencing our destiny? Are they a treasure or a blame?
They are all this! Dangerous, treasure, unreliable, still almost the only thing we can count on. Our memories are constantly influencing us, and often without we notice it. And they are ever changing, our memories; every new experience can change them, give them a new perspective; or call forth something you had totally forgot. And, important, very interesting and sometimes uncanny; memories that lies in our depth, in the darkness there, so deep that we don’t know of them, they can influence our feelings, thoughts, behavior. The most dangerous thing is though if we don’t give them a thought, just keep on pushing them down in the abyss inside us; then you are escaping you self, and that kind of flight seldom ends well, and sometimes very badly. All this goes just as well for us, the individuals, and the nations.
I found that a narrative technique that you often use is to start from objects, impressions, or memories to tell about the stories of the characters. One of your books in which I can see it most clearly is Asta’s story, where the protagonist’s father lays on the ground, after falling from a ladder, and in between moments of lucidity he traces the events of his family’s history. I believe that this is a very original way of building novels and I personally really appreciate it. I remember one interview in which you said how all the writers constantly steal from the world around them. So my question is: is this technique coming from some kind of theft you make, when you steal impressions or objects from the world you have around? And in doing so, how much of you do you put in your stories?
One steal in the sense that one is influenced constantly by others, by writers, musicians, taking in ideas; the most important thing is though to use it in your own way. Try to use it in a new way. Have though to confess that I’ve never give it a thought how this idea came to me, using this technique; it just came, and I knew right away that it was the right… music. But, yes, the narrative technique is very important for me, very vital, because it influence everything so so much; the atmosphere, how everything flows. One of the very much important thing of it all.
[1] https://bokmenntir.is/en/literature-web/authors/jon-kalman-stefansson (last consultation: 2024, August).
[2] Jón Kalman, Stefánsson, Með byssuleyfi á eilífðina, Höfundur, Reykjavík, 1988.
[3] Jón Kalman, Stefánsson, Sumarljós og svo kemur nóttin, Bjartur, Reykjavík, 2005.
[4] Jón Kalman, Stefánsson, Summer Light, and Then Comes the Night, translated by Philip Roughton, HarperVia, New York, 2020.
[5] Jón Kalman, Stefánsson, Guli Kafbáturinn, Benedikt bókaútgáfa, Reykjavík, 2022.
[6] Jón Kalman, Stefánsson, Fiskarnir hafa enga fætur, Bjartur, Reykjavík, 2013.
[7] Jón Kalman, Stefánsson, Fish Have No Feet, translated by Philip Roughton, MacLehose Press, Hove, 2016.
[8] Jón Kalman, Stefánsson, Eitthvað á stærð við alheiminn, Bjartur, Reykjavík, 2015.
[9] Jón Kalman, Stefánsson, About the Size of the Universe, translated by Philip Roughton, MacLehose Press, Hove, 2018.
[10] Jón Kalman, Stefánsson, Saga Ástu, Benedikt bókaútgáfa, Reykjavík, 2018.
L'autore
- Teresa Franceschi nasce nel 1999 a Massa Marittima (GR). Ha conseguito con il massimo dei voti la laurea magistrale in Italianistica presso l'Università di Bologna con una tesi dal titolo «Vuote le mani ma pieni gli occhi del ricordo di lei». Islanda e Sicilia: l’isola fra esilio e nóstos (relatore Prof. Alessandro Zironi), dove oggetto d'indagine è stata la letteratura islandese del Novecento. Il profondo interesse verso la letteratura nordica aveva già trovato espressione nella tesi di ricerca triennale, in cui si indagava il confronto fra le fiabe italiane di Italo Calvino e quelle norvegesi di Asbjørnsen e Moe. Le esperienze di studio nel nord dell'Europa, prima all'Universitetet i Oslo e poi all'Universiteit van Amsterdam, hanno contribuito alla sua formazione accademica e personale. Al momento lavora come redattrice presso Giunti Editore a Firenze.
