Bio
Böðvar Guðmundsson was born on the farm Kirkjuból in Hvítársíða, West Iceland on January 9, 1939. After finishing his secondary education in Reykjavík, he studied Icelandic at the University of Iceland and received a Cand. Mag. degree in 1969. He studied further in Germany from 1964 – 1965 and in France 1972 – 1973. Böðvar was a teacher at Réttarholtsskóli in Reykjavík 1962 – 1963, and later taught at Christians Albrechts Universität in Kiel, the secondary school Menntaskólinn við Hamrahlíð in Reykjavík 1969 - 1974, the University of Iceland 1970 – 1972 and the secondary school Menntaskólinn á Akureyri 1974 - 1980. He was a sessional teacher at the Drama Academy of Iceland 1981 – 1983 and held the post of Icelandic guest lecturer at the University of Bergen 1983 – 1987.
Böðvar Guðmundsson has sent forward plays, poetry and novels. He has also translated numerous books for children and adults. Among his translations are books by Heinrich Böll, Roald Dahl, Michael Ende and Astrid Lindgren. His first published work, the poetry collection Austan Elivoga (East of Elivogar) appeared in 1964. His historical novels about Icelandic emigrants to America in the 19th century were published to acclaim and have been highly popular with readers. The latter, Lífsins tré (The Tree of Life), received the Icelandic Literature Prize in 1996. A play based on the books was staged at the City Theatre in Reykjavík in 2004 - 2005. Böðvar has also written lyrics for Icelandic songs.
From the Author
My approach to literature
I do not live to write but I write to live. I did not read much as a child, far from it, I learned to swim before I could read and my writing was so terrible that people felt sorry for my parents – and they felt sorry for me. I never really mastered spelling. It appears to be some sort of dyslexia, it has been called "letter blindness". At college my worst subject was spelling, it was impossible for me to properly solve spelling exercises like: "The hollow banked stream flowed past the impoverished little farm," or "The housewife bought a pedal powered sewing machine and fermented haddock."
But somehow matters developed in such a way that I had few choices. We must not forget that my father was a well-known poet and that I was surrounded by literature in my youth. I learned poems by heart at school and even if I could not write a single word correctly I could remember every line I heard that rhymed. I started writing poetry at an early age, mostly these where remonstrative reproaches directed at my siblings but more serious poems where to be found amongst them. For instance when King Christian X died when I was nine years old I wrote a memorial poem and gave the ram a recital, for it was my job to carry it water. I did not dare to recite it to anyone else.
And so the years passed, I went to school and wrote poems about the teachers and later when the soul awakened and the sex drive started to swish its tail I started to write sonnets and even stories for the school paper. I was very fond of poetry around my twentieth year. I lived in a sort of poetry world, I knew all the poems of Hannes Pétursson back to front and tried to write poetry like he did. Later other poets joined him and I owe them all a great debt, but in the world of poetry Pétursson will always be king.
But one never takes the direct route to one's goals. By a stroke of luck I somehow, by accident, managed to enroll in Icelandic studies at the University of Iceland in 1963. It was by no means because I had any plans for what I wanted to do when I grew up, but rather because that was where the people I most admired where. My professors shook their grey locks at the sight of my spelling. When I handed in my first project at University, it was of course an essay on Hannes Pétursson, good old Steingrímur J. Þorsteinsson was fairly upset and said: "There is a lot in what you are saying, but you do not know how to spell." And when good old Halldór Halldórsson let me through the needle eye of the first part of the studies he laughed and said: "Never before have I seen Hafnarfyrði spelt with a "Y" on a first year exam in Icelandic studies!" [The correct spelling is Hafnarfirði]
The result of my studies, however, was a much improved knowledge of spelling. I learned that words are the offsprings of other words and bear a certain resemblance to them. In the end I was so confident with all the "Hollow banked streams in Hafnarfirði" that I started to teach Icelandic as soon as I finished my degree.
My inexperience was such that I thought I could teach and write something at the same time. Most writers I knew "did" something besides writing. Unless they were on social benefit. My father was a farmer, Jón úr Vör was a librarian, Jóhannes úr Kötlum was a school teacher. Only Þórbergur and Halldór Laxness "did nothing". But they did not count, as they where geniuses.
For some years I tried to write literary works in my spare time. That was not a success. And to my amazement I found that when I had peace and quiet to write I found it boring beyond belief. I was literally in pain from sheer boredom. I guess most people can tell this from what I wrote at the time.
This produced, of course, an existential crisis. And in the end I came to the conclusion that I did not want "to write" a work of literature, I wanted "to have written" a work of literature.
There was no one, special incident that changed my attitude to writing, it was a series of incidents and coincidences over a good many years. The biggest factor was probably the fact that I had moved to Denmark and over there the job market is not exactly screaming for middle aged men with no other qualifications besides a degree in Icelandic studies. This lead me to write to live, earn my keep by translating stories, plays and poems. In other words, the incidents decided for me what I was going to be when I grew up. I was 47 at the time.
It was terribly boring to begin with, but you can get so used to bad things that you come to like them. And now I am at the point where I like it best when I am on my own with my computer. And that leads to the fact that of course I like nothing better than to read the things I write myself and nothing is more enjoyable than to write the things I myself read.
This was my round about approach to literature.
Böðvar Guðmundsson, 2001
Translated by Dagur Gunnarsson
About the Author
On the Works of Böðvar Guðmundsson
Despite his long and fruitful career as a playwright and poet, Böðvar Guðmundsson is undoubtedly best known for two of his novels, Híbýli vindanna (1995; Where the Winds Dwell) and Lífsins tré (1996; The Tree of Life). For the latter, Lífsins tré, he received the Icelandic Literature Prize in 1997. Lífsins tré continues the story begun in Híbýli vindanna, the family saga of Ólafur Violin and his family. The award is certainly meant to honor both novels and with due cause as both books make for an informative and captivating read.
The narrative mood is somewhat out of the ordinary as both books are comprised of letters that span 200 years, or the lives of five generations. However, the letter writer whose letters to his daughter open both books serves as the backbone of the narrative, a sort of frame for and introduction to the letters of generations past. His story is interrupted now and again with letters written by relatives who have passed on. By using this sort of narrative mood, Böðvar makes the story polyphonic and demanding while successfully avoiding ever making it seem disjointed as he weaves many different storylines into one continuous whole.
Such an inclusive and complicated narrative, both in time and setting, needs a focal point provided by Ólafur Violin, his forefathers and descendants. Ólafur´s parents, Jens and Málmfríður, were both ex-prisoners pardoned by King Jörundur of the "dog days" during his short reign in Iceland. In addition to freeing them he made it possible for the ex-cons to wed and, noticing how much the couple loved music, he gave them a violin. Jens and Málmfríður move north and work for Magnús Stephensen until he moves back south to Viðey. Before Magnús moves he makes arrangements for Jens and Málfríður to have the small farm at Seyra, where they settle down. Their life there is never easy but they enjoy what they have been given, family and farming, in addition to which they have the violin that Magnús teaches Jens to play. Ólafur Violin is their youngest child, 16 years his sister Jórunn´s junior. Jórunn, called the Beautiful, marries the local priest after her father´s death and moves to the vicarage with her elderly mother and young brother Ólafur. Ólafur is happy there. The priest, having no children of his own, takes a liking to the boy and teaches him to read, write and even play the old violin. But the kindly priest dies after only a couple of years of marriage so that Ólafur and the widow Jórunn have to leave the vicarage. Finding herself alone in the world, Jórunn hires a handyman whom she later marries but who turns out to be a villain who takes delight in torturing Ólafur. Ólafur leads a miserable life until he becomes old enough to leave home and look for work in another part of the country.
After that Ólafur leads a hard life and his story gives a rather darker view of the Icelandic pastoral community during the early 19th century than history usually does. As a young man, Ólafur is considered a good worker and is even sought after because of his ability to fix most anything. In fact, he is an artist who does woodwork, weaves, has a lovely singing voice and doesn´t like anything better then playing his father´s violin. But even though his fellow countrymen enjoy his talents as a singer, have him inscribe the new pulpit and play the violin at all sorts of gatherings, this is not considered work as such and Ólafur therefore never gets paid for his efforts. In addition, Ólafur and his wife Sæunn turn out to be what the more prosperous farmers deem problematically fertile. Sæunn is almost continually pregnant (not an ideal condition for workers), the young children need to be fed even though they cannot work for their food and so the county´s officials place members of the rapidly growing family in different households to ease the burden of feeding them. At this point in the story, the narrator focuses on Sæunn as the young mother and wife powerless to prevent the authorities from taking her young children and placing them with people she has never even met. Sæunn and Ólafur are even unable to comfort each other as they are placed far apart to prevent them from adding to the number of children. After a year apart from his wife, Ólafur Violin gathers his family together at the small farm at Seyra, his parents´ old homestead and the only bit of land available to him. But the small farm has remained unoccupied for a reason and it soon proves to be an insufficient provider for the rapidly growing family. Ólafur and Sæunn must again stand by as their children are taken away because as before no one sees any reason to pay Ólafur for nailing together some coffins or providing the county with music. The couple cannot move to a different part of the country in search of better land; the poor are required by law not to leave the county where they are born, and neither can they accept that their children are sent to live with strangers. At this point reports from bountiful America start reaching Iceland.
During Iceland´s struggle for independence it was no doubt necessary to lay special emphasis on patriotism and nationality. But history shows that fervent patriotism can bring out both the best and the worst in man. The image of the healthy Icelandic farmer who loves his farm and sheep, reads the sagas in his infrequent free time and sometimes writes a little poetry "just for fun, it´s nothing special really" isn´t picture perfect unless the farmer is his own man. Not only did the independent farmer become a symbol for the nation´s struggle for freedom from the Danish empire but also a symbol of the unique connection between man and land of which Icelanders boasted. Anyone who did not confirm to this romantic image, anyone who had reason to complain about general living conditions in Iceland, anyone like Ólafur Violin and his family became an eyesore. Their voices had to be silenced in order to uphold the image supporting Iceland´s claim to independence. The government (or ruling class) maintained an amazingly duplex policy in these matters: while paying the passage to America for any poor or unwanted individuals they officially called the same people traitors. Böðvar gives this hitherto mostly silenced group a voice, a chance to tell their side of the story through Ólafur Violin and his family.
Since Híbýli vindanna and Lífsins tré are based on real events, historical facts must be taken into account. It is however obvious that Böðvar is encouraging a certain reconsideration of history, or at least calling attention to the fact that history is after all written by those who conquered. The story of Ólafur Violin is the story of a man who was conquered in the sense that his views and experiences have not been accepted as a part of official history. The following quote from Híbýli vindanna suggests that Böðvar wants the view of these people to be taken into account, even if it is a bit late.
The letter people are patient and don´t mind having to wait, their temperament takes its cue from eternity. It doesn´t matter to them if they are lost for ever. But their story matters to us who are still alive, who intend to reconcile ourselves with death by understanding life, as well as to those who are to come after us and carry the gifts of the gods from generation to generation.
As so many others who chose to move overseas, Ólafur Violin simply had no hope of leading a good life in Iceland and perhaps more importantly no reason to hope for better times for his children. Moving overseas was not an act of treason but an act of desperation. The descendants of the people who moved deserve to hear another version of this part of the history of Iceland.
It is also ironic to think that few people seem to feel as strongly towards Iceland as the descendants of the people who had to move to North America. The patriotism that made the first generation of Icelanders in North America feel ashamed of themselves has lived on in celebrations like the Fjallkonudagur and stories about Iceland, the beautiful country they were forced to leave.
Híbýli vindanna and Lífsins tré are among the latest of Böðvar´s works and they show all the signs of an experienced author. On reading his older works one soon realizes that the issues at heart in those last stories are not far away in his earlier works, both poems, plays and stories.
Böðvar´s first novel, Bændabýti (A Farmer’s Lot), published in 1990, in many ways lays the groundwork for the two bigger novels to come. Bændabýti tells the story of Þórður Hlíðar, a boy who is found in the barn at Landá in Skógarhlíð. Since the boy´s parents can´t be found, the sixty-year-old farmer and a young couple working for him decide to take him in. Þórður grows up in the lustrous Skógarhlíð and soon proves to have a talent for making money. As a young boy Þórður happens to acquire fairly large capital on which he then collects good interest. But as Þórður becomes richer his foster parents become poorer. They rent the land from the old farmer, believing that he will eventually sell it to them, but it turns out that the old farmer has much more faith in young Þórður and his radical ideas than in the couple´s traditional farming. Eventually, it is Þórður that buys the farm and builds hotels and a golf course, leaving his foster parents with no alternative but to work for him in tourism.
Þórður Hlíðar is the center of about two thirds of the story. However, when it turns out that he will be a rich and prosperous man, the narrator seems to lose interest in him. Þórður almost disappears from the story, which focuses on his foster parents instead. The couple does not lead an easy life. It is as if the narrator can´t accept that Þórður can both be economically successful and at the same time an interesting character. The foster parents, who until now have served as secondary characters to Þórður and the old farmer, now come to the fore and their sad story becomes the main theme while Þórður becomes a minor character. Because of this the story ends a bit abruptly. The reader loses sight of Þórður and his fate, but has not become well enough acquainted with his foster parents at the beginning to really sympathize with them at the end. Böðvar´s interest in the underdogs appears to be so strong that he can´t fail to tell their story, even if doing so diminishes the quality of the narrative as a whole.
It is not only in novels that Böðvar tries to tell the underdog´s story. Almost all Böðvar´s plays have been written for specific amateur theatre companies and most of these plays have never been published. Many of them do focus on giving voices to silenced groups.
The plays Skollaleikur (1977; The Devil’s Game), Heimilisdraugar (1980, Household Ghosts), Úr aldaannál (1982; From the Chronicle of the Century), Ættarmótið (1990; Family Reunion) and Nýjir tímar (1999; New Times) are all more or less serious social critiques where the victims of witch hunts, the rat race and unemployment as well as ex-convicts get to be heard and have some of their dignity restored. Humor is usually close at hand in Böðvar´s works, but it is clear that he feels some things are no laughing matter. Corruption amongst powerful officials who conduct all sorts of witch hunts and use their power to mistreat lower classes and often poor people is a common theme amongst these plays, even though the stories may differ. In Skollaleikur and Úr aldaannál Böðvar criticizes the community by making the characters very clearly either good or evil. In contrast, the characters in Heimilsdraugar, Ættarmótið and Nýjir tímar are much more complex, have more depth and are responsible for their own fate in ways that strictly black-and-white characters are not able to be.
The folklore and revision of history that features largely in Híbýli vindanna and Lífsins tré is never far off in Böðvar´s more serious plays, but he also utilizes his knowledge of history in his lighter works and farces. His first play, Loki þó (1972; Loki, You Rascal, also known as Hár og hafrar), humorously recites the tale of the heathen god Loki when he cuts off all of the goddess Sif´s hair and is sent on a quest for hair by her furious husband. Grísir gjalda, gömul svín valda was written in 1979, the year of the child, and pokes fun at Icelandic parents and the school system.
Kvennaskólaævintýri (1994) is aptly named An Adventure at the Women´s Institute it draws precisely the slightly crazy and romantic picture people have of the Women´s Institutes, which sadly are a thing of the past. Much as in his stories of Icelanders in North America, Böðvar has put a lot of effort into research when his subject is related to history or Norse mythology. He always knows his facts and is able to incorporate them well in his works.
The stories in the short story collection Kynjasögur (1992; Tales of Strange Things) are in many ways reminiscent of Böðvar´s more farce-like plays. Here the storyteller lets his imagination run wild and writes fantasies which, all the same, bear evidence of the fact that the history of Iceland and the story of the underdog are his main interests. The return of Snorri Sturluson to 20th century Iceland is used to make fun of a modern Icelander´s admiration of the past, the pope and his company have a sexual crisis in Iceland and Vikings turn the virgin saint George, whom they hold captive, into a sophisticated and independent "lady". Fantasy is used to unravel the idiocy of the mundane and Böðvar more often than not manages to do this in an interesting way as well as pointing out things that could be improved in society.
Social criticism is also the theme of many of Böðvar´s poems. He has published six books of poetry, the first one, Austan Elivoga (East of Elivogar), in 1964. Since then he has published Í mannabyggð (1966; Among Humans), Burt reið Alexander (also known as Burtreið Alexanders 1971; Away Rode Alexander), Vatnaskil (1986; Watershed), Heimsókn á heimaslóð (1989; A Visit to the Childhood Home) and Þrjár óðarslóðir (1994; Three Paths of Odes). In the last, Þrjár óðarslóðir, Böðvar laments some of the changes characterizing modern Icelandic society from humility towards nature and life to control over both. He regrets the loss of naïve curiosity and the more modern view that " all words have been discovered / that all doors are locked". Þrjár óðarslóðir is an attempt to re-invoke curiosity and interest in language. The lines quoted above cannot be identified by page number or title, as well-known systems may tend to stand in the way of discovery and new understanding. To further intrigue the reader, small drawings accompany each poem. At first glance the drawing seems meaningless but further examination connects poem and drawing. Symbol and poem work together to create meaning; words explaining the drawing and drawing emphasizing certain aspects of the poem.
Böðvar´s oldest poetry is rather more traditional, mostly concerned with universal subjects such as life, love and death. Soon in his career Böðvar starts exploring the boundaries of tradition, both regarding subject and form. The third book, Burt reið Alexander, explicitly points out how binding tradition can be to artists. All in all, Böðvar´s poems and prose share the common aspect of taking tradition semi-seriously, pointing out the need to carefully examine accepted truths with an open mind and readiness to laugh at your own failure.
© Agnes Vogler, 2003
Articles
Articles
Þórunn Sigurðardóttir: "Böðvar Guðmundsson."
Icelandic Writers (Dictionary of Literary Biography). Ed. Patrick J. Stevens. Detroit: Gale, 2004. 17-22
See also: Neijmann, Daisy L., ed. A History of Icelandic Literature.
University of Nebraska Press, 2007, 464-465, 573 and 642
On individual works
Híbýli vindanna (Where the Winds Dwell)
Victoria Ann Cribb: "From Three-Shoe Heath to the shores of Lake Winnipeg"
Iceland Review, 2000, vol. 38, issue no. 4. pp. 78
Awards
2010 - Reykjavík City Children's Literature Prize, for best translation: Elskar mig - elskar mig ekki
2009 - The Knight's Cross of the Order of the Falcon: For his contribution to Icelandic culture and literature
1997 - The Icelandic Literature Prize: Lífsins tré (The Tree of Life)
Nominations
2009 - The Icelandic Literature Prize: Enn er morgunn (Still Morning)
1994 - The Icelandic Literature Prize: Kynjasögur (Strange Stories)
Töfrahöllin (The Enchanted Palace)
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Umskipti (Bian)
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