|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Met up at the airport for the 1.30 bus to Kalvali where we saw a turf roofed
house where Barbara (in a story by Jorgen-Frantz Jacobsen) lived, along
with a peat fire, house cow and all the tools. There were spinning implements.
The house was in three parts, the main room had a dirt floor and the peat
fire. To the left was the bedroom. In here, the back of the fire poked
though the wall to give some heating. To the right was where the cow was
kept. The turf roof was lain on top of birch bark. The bark was obviously
imported because there are no trees in the Faroes.
Steve walked back over the hill with one group, while Rosemary and Selina
saw a baby shag. seemingly abandoned by mother, at the bus-stop but went
elsewhere to catch a bus back to the hotel. Selina and Rosemary indulged
in illegal Danish pastries at the airport. Supper was at 7.30. Steve had
cold blubber, dried whale meat, wind-dried lamb and dried fish as a starters
wheras Selina had soup and Rosemary plaice. Then pizzas all round for the
main course.
In the eighteenth-century Faeroes (the North Atlantic islands long possessed by Denmark), isolation vied with drink to produce an insular society that nonetheless insisted upon a strict social code--circumstances Jacobsen (1900-38) used as the setting for his powerful novel, an acknowledged classic of modern Faeroese and Danish literatures. Naturally fearless and erotic, the widow Barbara rapidly gains the attention and love of a new priest from Denmark. Their marriage, at first close and passionate, becomes strained as the pastor discovers his wife's obsessive craving for his attention. After being stranded awhile on another island by the weather, he returns to find Barbara has left with a new love. The novel ends without concluding as Barbara's new love departs for Denmark, leaving her behind and her fate unresolved. This exceptional work is written in a naturalistic style that vividly conjures the characters in their social and physical setting. Jacobsen's descriptions of the islands and the seas around them are veritable poetry.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
