Weird Norwegian Drama

I read this review in the Guardian before crimbo about Vigdis Hjorth. The library had a copy of 'Long Live the Post Horn!' which I ordered, but Claire bought 'Is Mother Dead?' for mum so I will get to read that one later this year when I acquire it. Anyway, who doesn't enjoy a nice novel about the Norwegian postal service. It's good to see that the same issues concern Norwegian posties as British posties. If anything their role as a link for remote rural communities is even more significant. I guess people in urban areas do not consider our presence significant but there are still lots of parts of the country where the postal system is a connection to and reminder of the wider world.

Our heroine Ellinor, who narrates the story, is going through something of an existential crisis, exacerbated by the sudden disappearance and then death of a work colleague. But this results in her taking over his project working for the Norwegian Post and Communications Union that is trying to raise some awareness about the ramifications of a EU postal directive. Alongside this there is her weird love affair that seems somewhat non committal, and her family, whom she seems very fond of but finds disconcerting. So her struggle for meaning is set against the backdrop of the fight against the undermining of the postal system. 

We'll start with some existential angst (Dag is the friend who died):

"I had realised the importance of everything that had been Dag just when everything that was Dag ended. With the benefit of hindsight, I grasped the magnitude of the loss. I went home to bed and wanted to dream, but never sank into the stage where dreams are shaped, and tomorrow's to-do list played on a loop behind my eyes. I could already feel the exhaustion I would feel in the morning because I had missed out on my dream sleep, it tensed my jaw. The stiffness in my back, my footsteps out of the bedroom, the cold floor, the stream into the lavatory and the water, my face in the mirror where all my ridiculous worried had embedded themselves into my forehead. Shower and shampoo in my hair, soap between my legs, under my arms, every morning, every morning. To get dressed and yet not suit myself. Wishing my wardrobe contained something else, to be surprised and then not be surprised, and yet not wear my best clothes in order not to wear them out. Save the best for later. For some day. My most expensive lingerie saved for something that would never happen, which I knew would never happen, which I didn't even hope would happen, and still I waited for the future, the future, for something which would never happen, for the world, such as it was, to change. Then it was morning and I got up to do what i had imagined, practically already lived. Thus I was able to live out the day before I actually lived it and get tired before the actual tiredness set in and not realise the significance of what was happening until afterwards, I was out of sync with myself." (p57-8)

I felt that the book became something of an ode the the postal service and she finds something of an epiphany when she comes to understand it better and care about the outcome of the vote. Here, long quote, sorry, but part of a lovely story a postman tells of his attempts to find an address for a stranded letter:

" 'A letter writer who trusted the Post Office to come to her rescue. Who took a chance and crossed her fingers. Minor details such as a lack of street name or house number didn't stop her writing, so urgent was her business, so great her faith in the Post Office. When there was no reply, she took another chance. Might it be a brave marriage proposal? Information about a child that Helge Brun didn't know he had? The more I examined them, the more I became convinced that the letters were important. Postal workers have strong intuitions, I don't need to tell you that and as it happens, I was proved right'

A buzz of excitement rippled through the room. Go on?

Rudolf Karena Hansen paused rhetorically. Rolf raised his hand, then looked at the postal workers and dropped it.

Their ears had pricked up, their eyes were shining, hanging on Rudolf Karena Hansen's every word, captivated by the tale of Helge Brun, identifying strongly with the narrator and his mysterious letters. Yesterday Rolf had told them to write down 'reliability' because the media wants something people can relate to, but what's the use of knowing what the media wants if you don't know the postal workers?

'From that moment on,' Rudolf Karena Hansen continued, 'I didn't just put letters into the right post boxes when I was out on my round. I knocked on doors and struck up conversations with any old people who were at home in the morning and children who were home alone after school and had time to chat with a trusted postman. I asked about Helge Brun and although no one could point me in his direction, it was the start of a fascinating period in my life. I heard many small stories which together made up a new and bigger story, the story of our district told from different points of view. Details and incidents I had never heard about, but which had had life-changing consequences for the individuals and the community, I gained a better understanding of how people live together and how they depend on one another. Everything made sense and though my round now took twice as long as it used to, and the postmaster wondered at times what I was doing, I did everything I was supposed to and more, and in the evening I sat in the office between piles of dead letters into which I tried to breathe life.' " (p78-9)

If I have piqued your curiosity you will have to read and find out if he ever found the recipient for the wayward letters. I loved the notion of breathing life into dead letters. We send away boxes and boxes every day. They are mostly junk mail, people gone away, but I always sort through the ones that make their way into the cage, and anything that is hand written I always check to find out where it might belong, correct the postcode or fill in a missing blank and sometimes manage to send things on their way.

Stay safe. Be kind. Breathe life.