A Translation by Jeffrey Castle of a 1965 book. In his introduction, the translator makes some interesting points. For instance, "many ... belatedly explained references crop up. ... At the point of first mention, each of these references, these "hooks", if you will, is confusing, jarring even ... When its meaning is clarified later, however, the narrative is reconfigured in such a way that the book makes sense".
It's late November. He can't sleep. He picks up a book by his bed, a phone directory. He discards it and picks the next book - a Norway train timetable. He imagines a journey there. He's been there before. He's attracted by the name "Tynset", a place he hasn't been to or heard of.
Celestina (a relative?) is in the next room. She alternately drinks and believes. She burns incense and is riddled with guilt.
His words and thoughts meander - e.g. "she would always think fondly of her childhood home, and so on and so forth, something like that, I believe, or that's the general idea at least". He imagines being a cloud then phones the recorded weather report. He can riff off anything - a sound; something he sees; a memory.
He used to scare people in the night with phone-calls, stopping 11 years ago when he thought he'd been traced. He used to drive for the hell of it. Away. Up. Once he found a car which had been buried in snow for weeks, a 1952 Chevrolet with the great evangelist Wesley B. Prosniczer frozen inside.
He listens to distant roosters. He recalls rousing the roosters of Athens from the Acropolis - "it was like a net that constantly grew wider as its holes became smaller and smaller - newly awakened voices continued to join in".
He sees death personified, symbolised. The ghost of Hamlet's father haunts the house. He has a painting (a landscape 150 years old) and an old telescope. He inherited the house 11 years ago from a data-addicted uncle. He's changed little in the house since. He's been housebound. If he leaves, it'll only be to go to Tynset, but all the methods of journey there are unpleasant in some way. A car journey may be ok though, as long as he avoided cities.
He's interested in stories from the Bible, the ones to do with guilt and death - Cain, etc.
He creates details of Tynset. "These are the thoughts of the teacher in Tynset, my friends. Or are they? Yes, they are"
He recalls his farewell party. Prosniczer had been there, starting a religious sing-along that made the guests leave.
Over 15 pages are taken up imagining how his giant bed might have been used on a night in 1522. A miller and wife, a prostitute, a monk, a nobleman and boy, and a young dying soldier shared the guest-house bed under moonlight. He thinks "I could learn something from these people". They all die.
He walks to the kitchen thirsty for wine. Celestina is there, drunk. She begs to be forgiven. He tries to perform the expected gesture.
Back in bed he wonders if actually going to Tynset would help - he's become attached to the one he's created.
Then it's morning. Overnight it has snowed. It's too late in the year to drive to Tynset now. A bell rings for a death - not for long so maybe it's a farmer's child. He decides to go to the funeral. He recalls a Hamlet performance in London where at Ophelia's funeral Hamlet sneezed and the audience applauded. He recalls the name of the woman he might have loved in London. He decides not to attend the funeral after all. He lets go of the idea of Tynset.
He (author and character) would have loved the web, zooming in on details with StreetView
Other reviews
- Wikipedia
- PH Stanley
- Kirkus review (An opaquely powerful work about obsession, delusion, repression, and guilt)
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