First, I want to say I understand why some people didn't like this book - its style takes a lot of getting used to, and it veers wildly from subject to subject, and from "reality" to fantasy, is a tragedy and a farce - a historical novel where the history is filtered by a unreliable, possibly mad, focus character. So I can see why some had no time for it.
However, I loved it - despite, and because, of all that's mentioned above.
I beautifully invokes a unique time, and place; a way of life, and a way of looking at the world that no longer exists.
I found the writing wonderful and enchanting - and would throughly recommend this to anyone looking to read something that is probably quite unlike anything they have ever read before.

Lacks the crystalline quality of [b:The Blue Fox|2638482|The Blue Fox|Sjón|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1328723879l/2638482._SY75_.jpg|2663201].

what wonderfully engaging, disgusting, and provocative prose. fun read but little story pay-off

(Iceland)

Poetic, but difficult.

This book is beautifully written. It's lyrical. It picks you up and carries you along. You are swept through streams of consciousness, and through herbal medicinal books, and then through third person narrative. You switch from one to the other seamlessly. It's a masterpiece in that regard.

But I am left with one overwhelming question.

What the fuck was that all about?

I mean I get it. It's the story of Jonás the Learned and his exile. It's about the amazing things he does or witnesses before he is accused of sorcery. It is about his weird magic realism visions. It's about his wonderfully patient wife. It's about him going to Denmark. But... what's the point?

I dislike getting to the end of the book and being thoroughly confused. It's the awkward break up conversation. "It's not you, it's me. I just don't think I can see this going any where." The book is as silent as my exes on the receiving end of the speech. Which could be a credit to my exes. But you just burble to fill in the space. In the end you just convince the other person they are better off without you or your understanding, because you have just revealed yourself as being slightly insane and they feel like they have dodged a bullet. "Why doesn't this girl just shut up?!?"

But I don't like that it my reading. The book that is cute and charming enough to get you to snog it while you're a little bit drunk, and then wake up thinking "What the hell did I just do? Please tell me it's not lying next to me." The book that tells you these epic sagas and then gets to the punchline and tells you "Oh I would tell you the point but it's too existential for you." (which is an "excuse" I was given by a staff member turning up 5 hours late for a shift (shifts were 4 hours long)).

See. This makes me grumpy. It conjures up images of break ups, drunken snogs with pretty, vapid boys and horrible prats who think they are all higher plane but are just fuckwits. It takes you on a pretty journey and I don't get the conclusion. If there is one. And I just don't know why I was taken on the journey.

I really do wonder if it is a cultural thing. Do I not get it coz I'm not Icelandic or even Scandinavian? I'd hope not but I may be right. I will read another of his books. I hope it is just this book, and it is the longest of them all. But I am prepared to be completely confused again. I'm not saying don't read it, just in case it is really me.

For more reviews, visit: http://rusalkii.blogspot.com.au/

Virkelig eventyrlig bog, snirklet og utilregnelig præcis som jeg husker Sjòn. Desværre var oplæseren FORFÆRDELIG, og halvdelen af bogen kæmpede jeg virkelig med at få lyttet færdig. Kudos til fortællingen, at den var for spændende til at opgive.

This was another of the books I bought before travelling to Iceland, and just like the others, reading it had me right back there.

Who is this story for? What is it about? What is meant to be achieved in the telling? Well... it's not exactly clear. There's the framing story of an exiled journeyman healer, but it slips into flights of fancy and glorious metaphor that reminded me at times of "The Monk" by Matthew Lewis.

There's something in the language that does more of the telling than the narrative itself, and drives the reading forward, odd, given that this is a translation. It must be a faithful one.

It's a sort of Icelandic Ulysses (shorter!), or The Island of The Day Before with colder locations, a meandering missive that develops in layers rather than a single strand, potentially readable in any order, an unreliable or at least overtly intentful narration touched with subtlety and tact.

You might hate it, but I think I loved it, although I'm not even sure I could say why, I just felt a great sense of withdrawal while reading it, and a drive to stick with it.

(I know, I know. I've basically just described what the pleasure of reading is.)

It felt a little like reading one of the Icelandic sagas, many points of interest punctuated with sudden occasional deep dives into small moments, but with no real callbacks. Chekov's guns lay unfired, and Sharpe's doorways remained unopened.

I'll probably read more from Sjón and their translator with an equal level of zeal, even though there's still something in me that tells me it wasn't that amazing. Well, there it is.

Nick
xx