What do you think?
Rate this book
The Greenhouse
For Lobbi, the tragic passing of his mother proves to be a profound catalyst. Their shared love of tending rare roses in her greenhouse inspires him to leave his studies behind and travel to a remote village monastery to restore its once fabulous gardens. While transforming the garden under the watchful eye of a cinephile monk, he is surprised by a visit from Anna, a friend of a friend with whom he shared a fateful moment in his mother’s greenhouse, and the daughter they together conceived that night. In caring for both the garden and the little girl, Lobbi slowly begins to assume the varied and complex roles of a fatherhood with a deep relationship with his child, cooking, nurturing, and remaining also a son, brother, lover, and…a gardener. A story about the heartfelt search for beauty in life, The Greenhouse is a touching reminder of our ability to turn the small things in everyday life into the extraordinary.
260 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2007
About the author
Auður Ava Ólafsdóttir
13 books919 followersAuður Ava Ólafsdóttir was born in Iceland in 1958, studied art history in Paris and has lectured in History of Art at the University of Iceland. Her earlier novel, The Greenhouse (2007), won the DV Culture Award for literature and was nominated for the Nordic Council Literature Award. She currently lives and works in Reykjavik.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 697 reviews
August 23, 2020
The story sounded promising and I started the novel eager to enter the world of what seemed a special young man who had recently lost his mother in a car accident, become a father with a girl he barely knew and who escaped Iceland to live in a monastery to rebuild an ancient, glorious rose garden.
But as I swallowed chapter after chapter I couldn’t quite conceive that the same author of “Miss Iceland” could create such a small-minded character. I was particularly annoyed by the way he referred to women as a group and reached the most cliched and even infantile conclusions ever about their behaviour and reactions. I expected to witness a journey to maturity and read a boneless narration instead with little interest other than the varieties of roses he used to the reconstruct the garden, the occasional evocative description of the quiet “vila” where he stayed and the culinary culture of the region.
Also, I was struck by the flimsy net of instant profound relationships he develops with most characters, main and secondary, including his nine months old daughter and a cinephile priest, which sounded particularly unconvincing. I was left with the impression of a potentially good story delivered in the most simplistic manner, leaving little to the reader’s imagination and way too much to easily discard.
Quite a disappointment that leaves me confused about this author as I did really enjoy her new novel… not sure I want to read more by her.
But as I swallowed chapter after chapter I couldn’t quite conceive that the same author of “Miss Iceland” could create such a small-minded character. I was particularly annoyed by the way he referred to women as a group and reached the most cliched and even infantile conclusions ever about their behaviour and reactions. I expected to witness a journey to maturity and read a boneless narration instead with little interest other than the varieties of roses he used to the reconstruct the garden, the occasional evocative description of the quiet “vila” where he stayed and the culinary culture of the region.
Also, I was struck by the flimsy net of instant profound relationships he develops with most characters, main and secondary, including his nine months old daughter and a cinephile priest, which sounded particularly unconvincing. I was left with the impression of a potentially good story delivered in the most simplistic manner, leaving little to the reader’s imagination and way too much to easily discard.
Quite a disappointment that leaves me confused about this author as I did really enjoy her new novel… not sure I want to read more by her.
April 14, 2016
I'm a little obsessed with Iceland. It's a gorgeous country and produces some amazing literature - Bragi Olafsson's The Pets ranks among my favorite books of all time - so I was thrilled when I came across Au∂ur Ava Olafsdottir's The Greenhouse; it's not every day that an English translation of a contemporary Icelandic literary title comes my way.
This is a quiet novel, written in a crisp and direct style - in that way it reminds me of Murakami, though the comparison ends there. Lobbi is a young man in his early twenties struggling to come to terms with the recent death of his mother as well as the recent birth of his daughter - the latter the result of a one-night stand in the former's beloved greenhouse. He accepts a job tending a world famous rose garden overseas where he befriends a film buff priest. Over time, Lobbi cultivates a rich inner life alongside the ailing rose garden while occasionally phoning his seventy-seven-year-old father to help him decipher his late wife's recipes. When the mother of his child contacts him one day to ask if he'll watch their daughter Flora Sol for a month while she completes her thesis, Lobbi isn't sure he's ready for the responsibility, but he accepts anyway.
That's the basic premise of the book. What I found most fascinating about this book - aside from the sheer pleasure of Olafsdottir's prose - was the believability of Lobbi as a fully fleshed out man. It's notoriously difficult for an author to write outside their gender, but Olafsdottir really hit it out of the park here. I recognized so much of my early twenties in Lobbi. The particulars are unique to him as a character, but the emotional landscape of a young man coming to terms with life's twin crucible of grief and joy is universal. It's strange, in many ways The Greenhouse is a small book - the stakes are never particularly high, the movements are subtle, the most dramatic action occurs before the narrative moment - yet while reading it (and still after) I found it to be expansive in a compact way. I know that doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but it's the type of book that consumes you while remaining a very contained thing, maybe like a bonsai or a scale model of a skyscraper.
If you liked this, make sure to follow me on Goodreads for more reviews!
This is a quiet novel, written in a crisp and direct style - in that way it reminds me of Murakami, though the comparison ends there. Lobbi is a young man in his early twenties struggling to come to terms with the recent death of his mother as well as the recent birth of his daughter - the latter the result of a one-night stand in the former's beloved greenhouse. He accepts a job tending a world famous rose garden overseas where he befriends a film buff priest. Over time, Lobbi cultivates a rich inner life alongside the ailing rose garden while occasionally phoning his seventy-seven-year-old father to help him decipher his late wife's recipes. When the mother of his child contacts him one day to ask if he'll watch their daughter Flora Sol for a month while she completes her thesis, Lobbi isn't sure he's ready for the responsibility, but he accepts anyway.
That's the basic premise of the book. What I found most fascinating about this book - aside from the sheer pleasure of Olafsdottir's prose - was the believability of Lobbi as a fully fleshed out man. It's notoriously difficult for an author to write outside their gender, but Olafsdottir really hit it out of the park here. I recognized so much of my early twenties in Lobbi. The particulars are unique to him as a character, but the emotional landscape of a young man coming to terms with life's twin crucible of grief and joy is universal. It's strange, in many ways The Greenhouse is a small book - the stakes are never particularly high, the movements are subtle, the most dramatic action occurs before the narrative moment - yet while reading it (and still after) I found it to be expansive in a compact way. I know that doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but it's the type of book that consumes you while remaining a very contained thing, maybe like a bonsai or a scale model of a skyscraper.
If you liked this, make sure to follow me on Goodreads for more reviews!
Read
June 29, 2020One merit of this charming story was that it inspired me to step outside and weed the garden. So I was away from screens for a while. Well, for half a day...
April 25, 2021
When the book begins, the central character (Lobbi) is 22 years old and living in Iceland with his 78 year old father and twin brother. His twin brother is mute, has autism and likes to hold Lobbi's hand. Their mother has recently died, leaving them all bereft. She and Lobbi had been close.
What the author does in this quiet novel, is create a wonderful character study of a 22 year old man who is coming of age. It is refreshing to read about Lobbi, because he is kind down to his finger tips. What follows is Lobbi's leaving home to travel to a foreign country, not understanding the language spoken there. He goes there to work in a monastery's rose garden, due to his love of roses.
As a young guy, Lobbi is most interested in the opposite sex. The reader will find his relationship with Anna to be interesting. It has its twists and turns. Much to Lobbi's surprise and initial consternation, their one-night stand leads to the birth of a daughter (Flora Sol).
The book is a meditation on growing up, finding one's way, and fatherhood. I enjoyed getting to know Lobbi.
What the author does in this quiet novel, is create a wonderful character study of a 22 year old man who is coming of age. It is refreshing to read about Lobbi, because he is kind down to his finger tips. What follows is Lobbi's leaving home to travel to a foreign country, not understanding the language spoken there. He goes there to work in a monastery's rose garden, due to his love of roses.
As a young guy, Lobbi is most interested in the opposite sex. The reader will find his relationship with Anna to be interesting. It has its twists and turns. Much to Lobbi's surprise and initial consternation, their one-night stand leads to the birth of a daughter (Flora Sol).
The book is a meditation on growing up, finding one's way, and fatherhood. I enjoyed getting to know Lobbi.
January 9, 2024
We often read stories about motherhood but rarely about fatherhood as the main topic. This is a coming-of-age novel by an Icelandic author narrated in first person by the twenty-two-year-old protagonist, Arnljótur Thorir, affectionately called Lobbi by his father. Lobbi’s mother has recently died in an automobile accident. He has also recently had a child after a one-night stand with a woman he met through a friend. He has a mentally impaired twin brother and an aging father. He is at loose ends after the recent upheavals in his life. He and his mother had shared a love of gardening. They cultivated various flora in their greenhouse. His mother especially loved roses. Though his father wants him to study botany at college, he decides to leave his home in Iceland and travel to a remote monastery (which appears to be in southern Europe) to help them rejuvenate their rose garden.
This is a character-driven novel that places the reader into the mind and body of a young man who is anxious about his mother’s recent death, and bewildered by his new status as a father, though he does not have a regular interaction with the child, Flora Sol, or her mother. He hopes to gain a sense of purpose through helping restore the monastery’s renowned rose garden to its former glory.
The journey provides him with a chance to reflect and to relate parts of his backstory to the people he meets along the way. The story is filled with descriptions of both food and gardens. There are many symbols embedded in the descriptions. I don’t want to spoil what happens toward the end but suffice it to say it focuses on a journey toward greater meaning, personal growth, and development of his abilities to be a good father.
It is elegantly written/translated (I read the English translation from the original Icelandic.) There is a beauty in the simplicity of its theme and writing style. The style even changes a bit toward the end to reflect Lobbi’s personal growth, becoming a little more embellished and warmer in tone. This is a hidden gem of a book that would clearly appeal to a wider audience if they had ever heard of it, which is one of the pleasures of reading translated literature.
This is a character-driven novel that places the reader into the mind and body of a young man who is anxious about his mother’s recent death, and bewildered by his new status as a father, though he does not have a regular interaction with the child, Flora Sol, or her mother. He hopes to gain a sense of purpose through helping restore the monastery’s renowned rose garden to its former glory.
The journey provides him with a chance to reflect and to relate parts of his backstory to the people he meets along the way. The story is filled with descriptions of both food and gardens. There are many symbols embedded in the descriptions. I don’t want to spoil what happens toward the end but suffice it to say it focuses on a journey toward greater meaning, personal growth, and development of his abilities to be a good father.
It is elegantly written/translated (I read the English translation from the original Icelandic.) There is a beauty in the simplicity of its theme and writing style. The style even changes a bit toward the end to reflect Lobbi’s personal growth, becoming a little more embellished and warmer in tone. This is a hidden gem of a book that would clearly appeal to a wider audience if they had ever heard of it, which is one of the pleasures of reading translated literature.
July 25, 2015
I read the Italian translation (nota al traduttore e all'editore: su "do" di "io do" l'accento NON ci va. Ma insomma, dove avete studiato??).
This is the story of the Icelandic Forrest Gump. He has a retarded brother, but he has some serious issues too. I disagree with many reviewers who see him as a real, regular, almost typical 22 yo man. Let's put it out there before anyone misses it: this guy is border-line autistic.
Things happen to him and to his body often as if he was watching them on a screen. Yes teenagers live a bit like that, but they don't rationalize that condition constantly like this guy does, and they tend to express themselves in one way or the other, while this guy is totally passive.
Now, is that particularly Icelandic? Or is this something the author wanted to create? I don't know. I know that, aside from the normal issues of a twenty year old, this man has other, very peculiar issues: very serious communication problems, and as I said, some autistic traits.
Let me be frank. If this simple, delicate book was not from an Icelandic author, I don't know if anyone would have published it. The young father with baby plot has been used many times, and with better, more coherent results, by Nick Hornby and other writers. "Iceland! Iceland!" is the reason why I, and probably many others, ended up reading this book.
On the other hand, simpliciy and quiet are the actual charm of the book, so I understand the readers who fell in love with it for its soothing effect.
But quiet and delicate are attributes that very easily overlap with bland and diluted.
Nothing stands out in the whole story, nothing jumps off the page, an idea, an individual, a feeling.
It is like one of those sweet melodies that might be pleasant to listen to while they're playing, but that once finished are immediately forgotten.
This is the story of the Icelandic Forrest Gump. He has a retarded brother, but he has some serious issues too. I disagree with many reviewers who see him as a real, regular, almost typical 22 yo man. Let's put it out there before anyone misses it: this guy is border-line autistic.
Things happen to him and to his body often as if he was watching them on a screen. Yes teenagers live a bit like that, but they don't rationalize that condition constantly like this guy does, and they tend to express themselves in one way or the other, while this guy is totally passive.
Now, is that particularly Icelandic? Or is this something the author wanted to create? I don't know. I know that, aside from the normal issues of a twenty year old, this man has other, very peculiar issues: very serious communication problems, and as I said, some autistic traits.
Let me be frank. If this simple, delicate book was not from an Icelandic author, I don't know if anyone would have published it. The young father with baby plot has been used many times, and with better, more coherent results, by Nick Hornby and other writers. "Iceland! Iceland!" is the reason why I, and probably many others, ended up reading this book.
On the other hand, simpliciy and quiet are the actual charm of the book, so I understand the readers who fell in love with it for its soothing effect.
But quiet and delicate are attributes that very easily overlap with bland and diluted.
Nothing stands out in the whole story, nothing jumps off the page, an idea, an individual, a feeling.
It is like one of those sweet melodies that might be pleasant to listen to while they're playing, but that once finished are immediately forgotten.
November 5, 2012
I just read another review that mentioned this book was quiet. Exactly. This book is quiet. Part of it takes place in a monastery, and that's how this book is, simple and quiet.
It's the story of a young man leaving his country for the first time and leaving his father and twin autistic brother behind. His mom died a few years back and the family still seems to not have moved on.
Part of the book is the road trip to his destination, which is never mentioned by name. Neither is his country of origin. But at least I came to the conclusion that he's going from Iceland to somewhere in southern Europe.
There are no superfluous details. And it's very direct. Despite this the descriptions and the characters do not come across flat or lacking. And this is a very believable young man, with issues, awkward moments and obsessions very typical of his age.
And being a gardening lover I really enjoyed the progress in the rose garden.
I think this was one of the most enjoyable books i've come across this year.
It's the story of a young man leaving his country for the first time and leaving his father and twin autistic brother behind. His mom died a few years back and the family still seems to not have moved on.
Part of the book is the road trip to his destination, which is never mentioned by name. Neither is his country of origin. But at least I came to the conclusion that he's going from Iceland to somewhere in southern Europe.
There are no superfluous details. And it's very direct. Despite this the descriptions and the characters do not come across flat or lacking. And this is a very believable young man, with issues, awkward moments and obsessions very typical of his age.
And being a gardening lover I really enjoyed the progress in the rose garden.
I think this was one of the most enjoyable books i've come across this year.
September 26, 2011
J'ai adoré les deux premiers tiers de ce livre, alors que Arnljótur quitte l'Islande pour un genre de road trip vers l'âge adulte, plein de naiveté et d'authenticité. Le personnage est très attachant, drôle, souvent émouvant. J'ai beaucoup aimé sa vision du monde, et j'avais souvent envie de souligner certains extraits.
J'ai beaucoup aimé la dernière partie, mais pas aussi intensément. J'y ai trouvé certaines longueurs, et la fin a un petit coté légèrement Paulo Coelho. Mais je lui aurais donné 4.5 étoiles si Goodreads me le permettait. Je recommende fortement Rosa Candida si tu as envie d'un livre qui fera sourire. C'est un genre de livre-refuge contre la laideur du monde...
J'ai beaucoup aimé la dernière partie, mais pas aussi intensément. J'y ai trouvé certaines longueurs, et la fin a un petit coté légèrement Paulo Coelho. Mais je lui aurais donné 4.5 étoiles si Goodreads me le permettait. Je recommende fortement Rosa Candida si tu as envie d'un livre qui fera sourire. C'est un genre de livre-refuge contre la laideur du monde...
August 2, 2021
Rosa Candida is slowly paced story without a proper ending but with some wonderfully poetic descriptions. I would say that the writing is not meditative or profound enough to make it a truly rewarding read or to make up for the fact that the book is pretty uneventful. Therefore, I wouldn't call it a successful novel. I didn't feel like I learned anything new from it (apart from some gardening hacks). However, Rosa Candida was still an interesting read in some ways so I don't regret buying the book, as disappointing as its protagonist might be.
I admit the main reason why I bought this book is because the author is from Iceland.
As soon as I saw those Icelandic characters (i.e. unique letters), I decided to buy the book. I'm somewhat fascinated with Iceland. Plus, the cover of the Croatian edition is really pretty with a lovely rose. This novel is partly set in Iceland, but it doesn't really focus on the country or the culture, rather it puts a young man into focus. Now, that would have been less disappointing if this protagonist actually made sense.
Lobbi, as his father calls him, is the protagonist of this novel. I already forgot his full name, so he will be only Lobbi for the purpose of this review. Having lost his mother in a tragic accident, Lobbi is a lost man in his early twenties. He has a child out of wedlock with an ex-girlfriend of his friend but he doesn't have a functioning relationship with either the mother of his child or the child. Lobbi doesn't seem to have any friends either. His elderly father seems to be his only social contact and while I enjoyed reading their dialogues, they were rarely truly insightful. In fact, the dialogues were mostly focused on cooking recipes left over by the Lobbi's late mother and on giving us updates on the dating life of the elderly father.
Personally, I found the protagonist of this book puzzling and annoying. Seeing that Lobbi is at the centre of the book at all times, this understandably affected my enjoyment of this book. His age doesn't explain it. Lobbi's is in his early twenties, it's not like he's 13 years old- but it feels that way sometimes, especially when he interacts with women. If the protagonist of this book, the young Lobbi, was suffering from autism (as his twin brother!), then his actions would make sense, but it is never so much as hinted in the book. If Lobbi had a mental disability of some kind then it would be easier to understand some 'rainy man' moments (as when he cannot tell women apart), but there is no indication of that. By this I mean no disrespect to people with disabilities, I'm just saying that it is understandable how someone on the spectrum or with a disability of some kind would have issues interpreting other's people's actions or establishing/ maintaining social contacts.
I wish that the author at least left a possibility of Lobbi having some kind of health or psychological problem, because I'm sorry but his behaviour doesn't make much sense. The grieving process for his mother doesn't explain it either because his anti-social behaviour seems to precede her death. Even if it explains some other things (like his inability to move on), the loss doesn't explain Lobbi's social phobia or whatever it is that makes him so weird. Lobbi's interaction with women is in want of another world- weird. He seems to be only interested in women as sexual objects but at the same time, he is not extremely interested in that either. He is more interested in flowers then sex, for example.
Soon into the novel, Lobbi decides to travel in an unnamed country to be a gardener in an obscure monastery. His travel and arrival is full of convenient moments that didn't feel realistic at all, but well the whole book is like that, so one gets used to it. Lobbi's destination didn't feel very real to me and I couldn't guess what kind of place or country it was supposed to be. Everyone seems to be very accepting of Lobbi, no matter where he goes and taken his lack of social skills, I found that unrealistic. To be completely honest, I didn't particularly enjoy the plot of the story as such. It didn't feel realistic at all, somehow everything works out too easily for Lobbi, despite his lack of social skills (or any skills besides gardening). Moreover, the novel wasn't philosophical enough to busy my head with, so it was a let down for most part. The ending felt too sudden. Nevertheless, there were bits and pieces that I did like a lot.
What I liked most about this novel were the poetic descriptions of Iceland. Those were as wonderful as I hoped they would be but they were few and far apart. The description of gardening efforts of the protagonists' mother were really touching as were the descriptions of their relationship. I found the description of Lobbi's pain and loss convincing, even if nothing else about him made sense, at least that did. The author doesn't really explain his emotions in detail, but there is something quite touching about the moments when Lobbi remembers his mother, as for example when he remembers her gardening passion or her tragic car accident. Lobbi's elderly father sometimes comes alive in the dialogues as well. One can feel Lobbi's father is grieving for the loss of his wife, even if he doesn't show it explicitly. I wish there was more of father character in the novel- and more of the autistic brother. I found it strange how Lobbi seemed so distanced from his brother seeing they are twins who grew up together. Lobbi says he was closer with the mother while his brother was closer with the father- that might partly explain it but no fully. With so many questions left unanswered, I found it really hard to relate with Lobbi. I won't even get into his relationship with his daughter and the mother of his child. Let's just say it is extremely unrealistic for a baby to bond instantly with a man she hardly ever saw- even if he is her father...but it seems everything always works out well for Lobbi.
All in all, I don't regret reading this novel but I can't say I immensely enjoyed it either. If slow paced books with puzzling protagonists don't bother you too much, there is every chance you might enjoy this one. If you like well defined endings and characters, this is not a book for you. On the other hand, if you are fascinated with plants, you might enjoy this book.
I admit the main reason why I bought this book is because the author is from Iceland.
As soon as I saw those Icelandic characters (i.e. unique letters), I decided to buy the book. I'm somewhat fascinated with Iceland. Plus, the cover of the Croatian edition is really pretty with a lovely rose. This novel is partly set in Iceland, but it doesn't really focus on the country or the culture, rather it puts a young man into focus. Now, that would have been less disappointing if this protagonist actually made sense.
Lobbi, as his father calls him, is the protagonist of this novel. I already forgot his full name, so he will be only Lobbi for the purpose of this review. Having lost his mother in a tragic accident, Lobbi is a lost man in his early twenties. He has a child out of wedlock with an ex-girlfriend of his friend but he doesn't have a functioning relationship with either the mother of his child or the child. Lobbi doesn't seem to have any friends either. His elderly father seems to be his only social contact and while I enjoyed reading their dialogues, they were rarely truly insightful. In fact, the dialogues were mostly focused on cooking recipes left over by the Lobbi's late mother and on giving us updates on the dating life of the elderly father.
Personally, I found the protagonist of this book puzzling and annoying. Seeing that Lobbi is at the centre of the book at all times, this understandably affected my enjoyment of this book. His age doesn't explain it. Lobbi's is in his early twenties, it's not like he's 13 years old- but it feels that way sometimes, especially when he interacts with women. If the protagonist of this book, the young Lobbi, was suffering from autism (as his twin brother!), then his actions would make sense, but it is never so much as hinted in the book. If Lobbi had a mental disability of some kind then it would be easier to understand some 'rainy man' moments (as when he cannot tell women apart), but there is no indication of that. By this I mean no disrespect to people with disabilities, I'm just saying that it is understandable how someone on the spectrum or with a disability of some kind would have issues interpreting other's people's actions or establishing/ maintaining social contacts.
I wish that the author at least left a possibility of Lobbi having some kind of health or psychological problem, because I'm sorry but his behaviour doesn't make much sense. The grieving process for his mother doesn't explain it either because his anti-social behaviour seems to precede her death. Even if it explains some other things (like his inability to move on), the loss doesn't explain Lobbi's social phobia or whatever it is that makes him so weird. Lobbi's interaction with women is in want of another world- weird. He seems to be only interested in women as sexual objects but at the same time, he is not extremely interested in that either. He is more interested in flowers then sex, for example.
Soon into the novel, Lobbi decides to travel in an unnamed country to be a gardener in an obscure monastery. His travel and arrival is full of convenient moments that didn't feel realistic at all, but well the whole book is like that, so one gets used to it. Lobbi's destination didn't feel very real to me and I couldn't guess what kind of place or country it was supposed to be. Everyone seems to be very accepting of Lobbi, no matter where he goes and taken his lack of social skills, I found that unrealistic. To be completely honest, I didn't particularly enjoy the plot of the story as such. It didn't feel realistic at all, somehow everything works out too easily for Lobbi, despite his lack of social skills (or any skills besides gardening). Moreover, the novel wasn't philosophical enough to busy my head with, so it was a let down for most part. The ending felt too sudden. Nevertheless, there were bits and pieces that I did like a lot.
What I liked most about this novel were the poetic descriptions of Iceland. Those were as wonderful as I hoped they would be but they were few and far apart. The description of gardening efforts of the protagonists' mother were really touching as were the descriptions of their relationship. I found the description of Lobbi's pain and loss convincing, even if nothing else about him made sense, at least that did. The author doesn't really explain his emotions in detail, but there is something quite touching about the moments when Lobbi remembers his mother, as for example when he remembers her gardening passion or her tragic car accident. Lobbi's elderly father sometimes comes alive in the dialogues as well. One can feel Lobbi's father is grieving for the loss of his wife, even if he doesn't show it explicitly. I wish there was more of father character in the novel- and more of the autistic brother. I found it strange how Lobbi seemed so distanced from his brother seeing they are twins who grew up together. Lobbi says he was closer with the mother while his brother was closer with the father- that might partly explain it but no fully. With so many questions left unanswered, I found it really hard to relate with Lobbi. I won't even get into his relationship with his daughter and the mother of his child. Let's just say it is extremely unrealistic for a baby to bond instantly with a man she hardly ever saw- even if he is her father...but it seems everything always works out well for Lobbi.
All in all, I don't regret reading this novel but I can't say I immensely enjoyed it either. If slow paced books with puzzling protagonists don't bother you too much, there is every chance you might enjoy this one. If you like well defined endings and characters, this is not a book for you. On the other hand, if you are fascinated with plants, you might enjoy this book.
August 11, 2016
Мекота, тихи чувства, неувереност, но и спокойствие.
Раждането на родителите. Миличък дядо.
С такава лекота се случва и преживява всичко в „Осемлистната роза“, че си помислих за исландски дзен? Флора Сол ще каже след години – може ли да се живее без драми.
„Отначало следвам посоката на слънцето – няма нищо по-лесно от това. Дори ако ще търся самия себе си, поне знам накъде съм се запътил.“
„Впрочем ако трябва да сме точни, татко е прекалено далеч, за да може да упражнява влиянието си върху мен.“
„Тревогите на татко ме изумяват, за разлика от него аз изпитвам доверие към света.“
„С раждането на дете, още повече първо дете, чувствата могат да съкрушат човек – обясни акушерката.“
„Сигурно бе странно усещането да се събудиш една петъчна сутрин, да отидеш в болницата и да родиш.“
„След първите единайсет езика човек лесно научава нови.“
„След разговора с татко животът ми изглежда някак по-хубав и аз губя всякакво желание да се прибера у дома.“
„Смущава ме мисълта, че жените обръщат внимание на всяко нещо.“
„Смеем се всички, цялото семейство.“
„Можеш да научиш много за емоционалния свят на жените от филмите на Антониони.“
Раждането на родителите. Миличък дядо.
С такава лекота се случва и преживява всичко в „Осемлистната роза“, че си помислих за исландски дзен? Флора Сол ще каже след години – може ли да се живее без драми.
„Отначало следвам посоката на слънцето – няма нищо по-лесно от това. Дори ако ще търся самия себе си, поне знам накъде съм се запътил.“
„Впрочем ако трябва да сме точни, татко е прекалено далеч, за да може да упражнява влиянието си върху мен.“
„Тревогите на татко ме изумяват, за разлика от него аз изпитвам доверие към света.“
„С раждането на дете, още повече първо дете, чувствата могат да съкрушат човек – обясни акушерката.“
„Сигурно бе странно усещането да се събудиш една петъчна сутрин, да отидеш в болницата и да родиш.“
„След първите единайсет езика човек лесно научава нови.“
„След разговора с татко животът ми изглежда някак по-хубав и аз губя всякакво желание да се прибера у дома.“
„Смущава ме мисълта, че жените обръщат внимание на всяко нещо.“
„Смеем се всички, цялото семейство.“
„Можеш да научиш много за емоционалния свят на жените от филмите на Антониони.“
October 16, 2022
Esta novela es una historia en torno a un hombre manso.
En la narración que hace el joven Arnljótur, desnuda y nos hace partícipes, de su inocencia, en ocasiones brutal, y de sus perplejidades ante sus vínculos con otros seres humanos. Tiene un hermano gemelo (al que califica, sin maldad, como "retardado) y que parece ser autista; y el mismo Arnljótur parece tener también algunos rasgos de ese tipo.
Padre accidental a los 22 años que sabe que es su deber hacerse responsable. Y así actúa, en cada una de las instancias en las que la vida lo sorprende: responde con responsabilidad y sin dudarlo.
Pero nada lo distrae de la razón de su vida, la jardinería, que es donde se maneja con plenitud. Este interés lo lleva a dejar su país (que todo hace presumir que es Islandia, aunque nunca se menciona) y recorrer varios países europeos hasta llegar a su destino, el jardín más maravilloso del mundo, y al que quiere recuperar de su deterioro.
Un linda novela, que gira en torno a este personaje, muy bien construido, y que a pesar de sus limitaciones, es capaz de afrontar, con serenidad y mansedumbre, lo que le va deparando la vida.
En la narración que hace el joven Arnljótur, desnuda y nos hace partícipes, de su inocencia, en ocasiones brutal, y de sus perplejidades ante sus vínculos con otros seres humanos. Tiene un hermano gemelo (al que califica, sin maldad, como "retardado) y que parece ser autista; y el mismo Arnljótur parece tener también algunos rasgos de ese tipo.
Padre accidental a los 22 años que sabe que es su deber hacerse responsable. Y así actúa, en cada una de las instancias en las que la vida lo sorprende: responde con responsabilidad y sin dudarlo.
Pero nada lo distrae de la razón de su vida, la jardinería, que es donde se maneja con plenitud. Este interés lo lleva a dejar su país (que todo hace presumir que es Islandia, aunque nunca se menciona) y recorrer varios países europeos hasta llegar a su destino, el jardín más maravilloso del mundo, y al que quiere recuperar de su deterioro.
Un linda novela, que gira en torno a este personaje, muy bien construido, y que a pesar de sus limitaciones, es capaz de afrontar, con serenidad y mansedumbre, lo que le va deparando la vida.
January 10, 2015
Re-read for class, in Icelandic, October 2014. (Listened to audio book read by author, too.)
Re-read for new review, November 2012.
Reviewed for Iceland Review, December 10, 2012, here: http://www.icelandreview.com/icelandr...
***
Part road novel, part bildungsroman, Auður Ava Ólafsdóttir’s The Greenhouse is a meditative story of love, death, fatherhood, and creating meaning in life even when it seems to be entirely dictated by chance. Published in English translation in 2011, it is the first of ten Icelandic novels that online retailer Amazon committed to publishing in the next year via its literature-in-translation press AmazonCrossing.
The Greenhouse opens on Lobbi, a young man to whom things seem to just happen—things which he is rarely equipped to handle. The last year has been particularly unsettling in this respect: first, his mother, with whom he was very close, died in a terrible car accident. Exactly a year later—after being unexpectedly conceived in “one quarter of a night, not even”—his first daughter was born. Feeling superfluous in the life of his child and misunderstood by his aging father, Lobbi is only really comfortable when he is gardening. And so, he decides to leave Iceland for an isolated monastery in a foreign country, hoping to restore a once-legendary garden to its former splendor and add to it a rare species of rose that he cultivated in his mother’s greenhouse.
Once Lobbi begins his journey, little goes to plan. He falls ill almost immediately after he departs and later gets lost and has to detour through a labyrinthian forest. He’s barely settled into his gardening routine at the monastery before the mother of his child arrives with his daughter, asking him to “bear [his] part of the responsibility” and look after the girl while she works on her graduate thesis. But instead of collapsing in this new role, Lobbi rises to the demands of fatherhood, and finds himself embracing such simple tasks as roasting potatoes and picking out hair ribbons.
Auður Ava is not only a fiction author, but also a practicing art historian. So it seems only natural that her prose is particularly visual in its descriptions, such as when Lobbi first arrives at his new village and sees the monastery on the edge of a cliff, “…severed in two by a horizontal stripe of yellow mist that makes it look like it’s hovering over its earthly foundations.” There is a tangible richness to each setting in the novel. Lobbi imagines the lava field where his mother died, visualizing a landscape of “russet heather, a blood red sky, violet red foliage on some small trees nearby, golden moss.” The cozy warmth of her greenhouse, a sofa among the tomato plants, contrasts with the forest Lobbi drives through “which seems endless and spans the entire spectrum of green.”
This evocative prose, fluidly translated by Brian FitzGibbon, provides a nice counterpoint to the simple but perceptive landscape of Lobbi’s continuous internal monologue. In the end, his own transformation mirrors that of his beloved roses, echoing his mother’s gardening philosophy: “it just needs a little bit of care and, most of all, time.”
(October 2011)
Reviewed for Three Percent here: http://www.rochester.edu/College/tran...
***
2011 has been a banner year for Icelandic literature on the international stage. “Fabulous Iceland” was this year’s guest of honor at the Frankfurt Book Fair, and in August, UNESCO named the Reykjavík as one of its five Cities of Literature—the only such city where English is not the native language. Perhaps even more notable for American readers, however, was the recent announcement that Amazon’s new publishing imprint, AmazonCrossing, will release an astounding ten Icelandic titles in new English translations over the next year. Judging by the press’ first Icelandic selection, The Greenhouse by Audur Ava Olafsdottir, English-readers can look forward to a catalog of remarkable Icelandic titles in the coming months.
At once wryly observant and sweetly comic, The Greenhouse is a meditation on such sweeping themes as sex, death, becoming a parent, manhood, and finding a place for oneself in the world which doesn’t once fall prey to cloying generalizations or cliche. Rather, through the eyes of twenty-two year old Arnljótur Thórir—or Lobbi, as his elderly father affectionately calls him—author Audur Ava Olafsdottir breathes a freshness and sincerity into her subject matter which is as charming as it is insightful.
The novel opens with a birth and a death. Having lost his mother in a car accident just a year earlier, Lobbi is also adjusting to his unexpected new role as father. His first child, Flóra Sól, is the product of the unlikely indiscretion of “one quarter of a night, not even, a fifth, more like it.” His mother’s death and the birth of his daughter both take place on the same day, which also happens to be his mother’s birthday. Lobbi’s father ascribes this confluence to “some intricate system,” while his son dismisses the coincidences as meaningless chance. “In my experience,” he sagely remarks, “as soon as you think you’ve got one thing figured out, something completely different happens.”
This statement ends up being wiser than Lobbi could imagine, as all of his best laid plans and worldviews are systematically upended throughout the novel. Feeling himself to be somewhat superfluous in the life of his daughter, and at loose ends with his father and autistic twin brother at home, Lobbi decides that rather than go to college, he will travel to a remote (unnamed) village monastery abroad to work as an gardener. Although he is generally indecisive and frequently unsure of himself, the decision is not a difficult one. Lobbi was “more or less brought up in a greenhouse” by his mother, who shared with her son a knack for cultivating tomatoes, flowers, and roses where once had only been “a flat stretch of barren land with rocks surrounded by wind-scattered pebbles.”
Lobbi is not even out of Reykjavík when his plans begin to go awry. He falls ill on the plane and must be hospitalized upon landing. Once recovered, he rents a car and begins his long journey, only to find himself lost in a deep forest and unexpectedly transporting an inn-keeper’s daughter to her drama class, 350 kilometers out of his way. Finally arriving at his destination, he finds solace in the monastery garden and a mentor in a monk with a love of dessert liqueurs and art house cinema. But he has not been working at the garden long when he is contacted by the mother of his child, an aspiring geneticist who would like Lobbi to “bear [his] part of the responsibility” and help her look after Flóra Sól while she completes her thesis. Thus, in very short order, Lobbi finds himself living with a woman, raising a daughter, learning to cook, and hopefully, figuring out what he wants to do with his life.
The Greenhouse is a meandering novel and although there are quite a few happenings throughout the narrative, not much actually “happens” per se, and nor does it need to. Lobbi’s daily negotiations of quotidian responsibilities are so sweetly related that something as simple as making dinner can become a rich, humorous, and illustrative moment. From Brian FitzGibbon’s seamless translation, it is clear that Audur Ava is a beautiful prose stylist who uses simple and straightforward language and imagery to convey complex emotions and observations. Interspersing scenes from Lobbi’s daily life with reflective moments from his past—the last conversation he had with his mother, sitting up and watching his daughter sleep the night that she was born—Audur Ava creates a fully realized portrait of a young man coming into himself without even really being aware of his own transformation.
The Greenhouse is a novel about finding beauty in the everyday, in simple moments and acts—in making dinner, and planting roses, and helping a child learn to walk. It is a story of creating meaning in one’s own life, especially in the face of chance and coincidence.
Re-read for new review, November 2012.
Reviewed for Iceland Review, December 10, 2012, here: http://www.icelandreview.com/icelandr...
***
Part road novel, part bildungsroman, Auður Ava Ólafsdóttir’s The Greenhouse is a meditative story of love, death, fatherhood, and creating meaning in life even when it seems to be entirely dictated by chance. Published in English translation in 2011, it is the first of ten Icelandic novels that online retailer Amazon committed to publishing in the next year via its literature-in-translation press AmazonCrossing.
The Greenhouse opens on Lobbi, a young man to whom things seem to just happen—things which he is rarely equipped to handle. The last year has been particularly unsettling in this respect: first, his mother, with whom he was very close, died in a terrible car accident. Exactly a year later—after being unexpectedly conceived in “one quarter of a night, not even”—his first daughter was born. Feeling superfluous in the life of his child and misunderstood by his aging father, Lobbi is only really comfortable when he is gardening. And so, he decides to leave Iceland for an isolated monastery in a foreign country, hoping to restore a once-legendary garden to its former splendor and add to it a rare species of rose that he cultivated in his mother’s greenhouse.
Once Lobbi begins his journey, little goes to plan. He falls ill almost immediately after he departs and later gets lost and has to detour through a labyrinthian forest. He’s barely settled into his gardening routine at the monastery before the mother of his child arrives with his daughter, asking him to “bear [his] part of the responsibility” and look after the girl while she works on her graduate thesis. But instead of collapsing in this new role, Lobbi rises to the demands of fatherhood, and finds himself embracing such simple tasks as roasting potatoes and picking out hair ribbons.
Auður Ava is not only a fiction author, but also a practicing art historian. So it seems only natural that her prose is particularly visual in its descriptions, such as when Lobbi first arrives at his new village and sees the monastery on the edge of a cliff, “…severed in two by a horizontal stripe of yellow mist that makes it look like it’s hovering over its earthly foundations.” There is a tangible richness to each setting in the novel. Lobbi imagines the lava field where his mother died, visualizing a landscape of “russet heather, a blood red sky, violet red foliage on some small trees nearby, golden moss.” The cozy warmth of her greenhouse, a sofa among the tomato plants, contrasts with the forest Lobbi drives through “which seems endless and spans the entire spectrum of green.”
This evocative prose, fluidly translated by Brian FitzGibbon, provides a nice counterpoint to the simple but perceptive landscape of Lobbi’s continuous internal monologue. In the end, his own transformation mirrors that of his beloved roses, echoing his mother’s gardening philosophy: “it just needs a little bit of care and, most of all, time.”
(October 2011)
Reviewed for Three Percent here: http://www.rochester.edu/College/tran...
***
2011 has been a banner year for Icelandic literature on the international stage. “Fabulous Iceland” was this year’s guest of honor at the Frankfurt Book Fair, and in August, UNESCO named the Reykjavík as one of its five Cities of Literature—the only such city where English is not the native language. Perhaps even more notable for American readers, however, was the recent announcement that Amazon’s new publishing imprint, AmazonCrossing, will release an astounding ten Icelandic titles in new English translations over the next year. Judging by the press’ first Icelandic selection, The Greenhouse by Audur Ava Olafsdottir, English-readers can look forward to a catalog of remarkable Icelandic titles in the coming months.
At once wryly observant and sweetly comic, The Greenhouse is a meditation on such sweeping themes as sex, death, becoming a parent, manhood, and finding a place for oneself in the world which doesn’t once fall prey to cloying generalizations or cliche. Rather, through the eyes of twenty-two year old Arnljótur Thórir—or Lobbi, as his elderly father affectionately calls him—author Audur Ava Olafsdottir breathes a freshness and sincerity into her subject matter which is as charming as it is insightful.
The novel opens with a birth and a death. Having lost his mother in a car accident just a year earlier, Lobbi is also adjusting to his unexpected new role as father. His first child, Flóra Sól, is the product of the unlikely indiscretion of “one quarter of a night, not even, a fifth, more like it.” His mother’s death and the birth of his daughter both take place on the same day, which also happens to be his mother’s birthday. Lobbi’s father ascribes this confluence to “some intricate system,” while his son dismisses the coincidences as meaningless chance. “In my experience,” he sagely remarks, “as soon as you think you’ve got one thing figured out, something completely different happens.”
This statement ends up being wiser than Lobbi could imagine, as all of his best laid plans and worldviews are systematically upended throughout the novel. Feeling himself to be somewhat superfluous in the life of his daughter, and at loose ends with his father and autistic twin brother at home, Lobbi decides that rather than go to college, he will travel to a remote (unnamed) village monastery abroad to work as an gardener. Although he is generally indecisive and frequently unsure of himself, the decision is not a difficult one. Lobbi was “more or less brought up in a greenhouse” by his mother, who shared with her son a knack for cultivating tomatoes, flowers, and roses where once had only been “a flat stretch of barren land with rocks surrounded by wind-scattered pebbles.”
Lobbi is not even out of Reykjavík when his plans begin to go awry. He falls ill on the plane and must be hospitalized upon landing. Once recovered, he rents a car and begins his long journey, only to find himself lost in a deep forest and unexpectedly transporting an inn-keeper’s daughter to her drama class, 350 kilometers out of his way. Finally arriving at his destination, he finds solace in the monastery garden and a mentor in a monk with a love of dessert liqueurs and art house cinema. But he has not been working at the garden long when he is contacted by the mother of his child, an aspiring geneticist who would like Lobbi to “bear [his] part of the responsibility” and help her look after Flóra Sól while she completes her thesis. Thus, in very short order, Lobbi finds himself living with a woman, raising a daughter, learning to cook, and hopefully, figuring out what he wants to do with his life.
The Greenhouse is a meandering novel and although there are quite a few happenings throughout the narrative, not much actually “happens” per se, and nor does it need to. Lobbi’s daily negotiations of quotidian responsibilities are so sweetly related that something as simple as making dinner can become a rich, humorous, and illustrative moment. From Brian FitzGibbon’s seamless translation, it is clear that Audur Ava is a beautiful prose stylist who uses simple and straightforward language and imagery to convey complex emotions and observations. Interspersing scenes from Lobbi’s daily life with reflective moments from his past—the last conversation he had with his mother, sitting up and watching his daughter sleep the night that she was born—Audur Ava creates a fully realized portrait of a young man coming into himself without even really being aware of his own transformation.
The Greenhouse is a novel about finding beauty in the everyday, in simple moments and acts—in making dinner, and planting roses, and helping a child learn to walk. It is a story of creating meaning in one’s own life, especially in the face of chance and coincidence.
October 29, 2017
Premetto: sono una “orchessa” priva di qualsivoglia sensibilità.
Lobbi ha ventidue anni, passa un quinto di notte d’amore con Anna, studentessa universitaria, amica di un amico. Nasce Flora Sol.
Lui è orfano di madre, ha un padre di 77 anni e un fratello gemello diversamente normale. Di Anna non sappiamo.
Lei continua a studiare, lui lascia l’Islanda per recarsi in un paesino del nord Europa presso un celebrato monastero per occuparsi del roseto più famoso al mondo.
Ora: signora Audur se mi dici dov’è Lobbi, mi devi dire anche dove va. L’hai spedito, per esempio, al Monastero di Kostanjevica? Mi piacerebbe saperlo. Non è un dettaglio utile alla narrazione? Allora non lo è nemmeno sapere dove sta dal momento che poi se ne va e non mi ha raccontato molto di dov’era.
Andiamo avanti.
Anna e la piccola Flora Sol di oramai otto mesi, dopo aver preso un aereo e quattro treni, raggiungono Lobbi.
L’intenzione di Anna è di lasciare la piccina con il suo papà mentre lei se ne va un mese altrove per finire di scrivere la tesi di laurea. Poi ci ripensa. Potrebbe rimanere in casa con Lobbi, studiare e preparare la sua tesi mentre lui si occupa della piccola.
Lobbi parla spesso con padre Tommaso. Gli dice e gli ripete che pensa spesso al corpo, alla morte. E? Non c’era posto per qualche bella riflessione, sai quelle che ti scavano anima e viscere, che graffiano e mandano in visibilio?
Andiamo avanti.
Per una decina di giorni Lobbi fa sesso ogni sera con la madre di sua figlia.
Signora Audur, fai fare l’amore ai tuoi personaggi e mai che tu descriva il piacere di una carezza, la meraviglia dell’odore di un corpo, la mutevolezza dei respiri, il goloso groviglio di corpi. Non si toccano? Toccarsi per conoscere, per scoprire. Il piacere è anche lì, dove le dita hanno quella sensibilità tattile estrema, amplificata. I polpastrelli. Hai presente? Ci sono anche per questo. Ma va bene, si può anche non parlarne. E allora ci va abilità per fare “vivere e vedere” senza raccontare.
Sorvolo sulla piccola prodigiosa Flora Sol che a nove mesi pronuncia persino qualche parola in latino.
E poi…
Lui compra tre pomodori, tre cipolle, tre peperoni e “TRE ROBE VIOLA” che non sa se sono ortaggi o frutti. Ci proviamo? Melanzane? Barbabietole? Altro?
E poi bis…
Si sa, il sole bacia i belli.
Ed è proprio in base a questo enunciato che se porti una bella creatura sulle spalle, anche se non hai un paio d’occhi extra installati sulla volta cranica sai per certo che il raggio di sole ha colpito lì.
L’idea di affrontare i temi della crescita, della ricerca, del cambiamento, della vita e della morte, della consapevolezza, della famiglia poteva rendere grande il libro. Invece l’ho trovato lieve lieve, quasi inconsistente.
La traduzione va di pari passo.
Devono aver regalato uno stock di virgole al traduttore. Ce ne sono uno sproposito. Con le virgole era compreso un cofanetto di “dò” voce del verbo dare, indicativo presente, prima persona singolare dal gusto antico.
Libro pluripremiato, pluritradotto. Amen.
Ma sono un’orchessa e troppa pudicizia mi fa male. Non date peso al mio commento.
Lobbi ha ventidue anni, passa un quinto di notte d’amore con Anna, studentessa universitaria, amica di un amico. Nasce Flora Sol.
Lui è orfano di madre, ha un padre di 77 anni e un fratello gemello diversamente normale. Di Anna non sappiamo.
Lei continua a studiare, lui lascia l’Islanda per recarsi in un paesino del nord Europa presso un celebrato monastero per occuparsi del roseto più famoso al mondo.
Ora: signora Audur se mi dici dov’è Lobbi, mi devi dire anche dove va. L’hai spedito, per esempio, al Monastero di Kostanjevica? Mi piacerebbe saperlo. Non è un dettaglio utile alla narrazione? Allora non lo è nemmeno sapere dove sta dal momento che poi se ne va e non mi ha raccontato molto di dov’era.
Andiamo avanti.
Anna e la piccola Flora Sol di oramai otto mesi, dopo aver preso un aereo e quattro treni, raggiungono Lobbi.
L’intenzione di Anna è di lasciare la piccina con il suo papà mentre lei se ne va un mese altrove per finire di scrivere la tesi di laurea. Poi ci ripensa. Potrebbe rimanere in casa con Lobbi, studiare e preparare la sua tesi mentre lui si occupa della piccola.
Lobbi parla spesso con padre Tommaso. Gli dice e gli ripete che pensa spesso al corpo, alla morte. E? Non c’era posto per qualche bella riflessione, sai quelle che ti scavano anima e viscere, che graffiano e mandano in visibilio?
Andiamo avanti.
Per una decina di giorni Lobbi fa sesso ogni sera con la madre di sua figlia.
Signora Audur, fai fare l’amore ai tuoi personaggi e mai che tu descriva il piacere di una carezza, la meraviglia dell’odore di un corpo, la mutevolezza dei respiri, il goloso groviglio di corpi. Non si toccano? Toccarsi per conoscere, per scoprire. Il piacere è anche lì, dove le dita hanno quella sensibilità tattile estrema, amplificata. I polpastrelli. Hai presente? Ci sono anche per questo. Ma va bene, si può anche non parlarne. E allora ci va abilità per fare “vivere e vedere” senza raccontare.
Sorvolo sulla piccola prodigiosa Flora Sol che a nove mesi pronuncia persino qualche parola in latino.
E poi…
Lui compra tre pomodori, tre cipolle, tre peperoni e “TRE ROBE VIOLA” che non sa se sono ortaggi o frutti. Ci proviamo? Melanzane? Barbabietole? Altro?
E poi bis…
Si sa, il sole bacia i belli.
Ed è proprio in base a questo enunciato che se porti una bella creatura sulle spalle, anche se non hai un paio d’occhi extra installati sulla volta cranica sai per certo che il raggio di sole ha colpito lì.
L’idea di affrontare i temi della crescita, della ricerca, del cambiamento, della vita e della morte, della consapevolezza, della famiglia poteva rendere grande il libro. Invece l’ho trovato lieve lieve, quasi inconsistente.
La traduzione va di pari passo.
Devono aver regalato uno stock di virgole al traduttore. Ce ne sono uno sproposito. Con le virgole era compreso un cofanetto di “dò” voce del verbo dare, indicativo presente, prima persona singolare dal gusto antico.
Libro pluripremiato, pluritradotto. Amen.
Ma sono un’orchessa e troppa pudicizia mi fa male. Non date peso al mio commento.
October 19, 2022
4-4.5
Alluring, quirky, charming and incredibly heartwarming! Loved every minute spent with this book.
One of those books that feels like warm hug when you’re feeling down, a cup of hot tea on a rainy day, a delicious piece of pie that makes you involuntarily close your eyes to cherish and contain the joy within. It is subtle, tender, poignant and just beautiful.
Its undeniable atmosphere of innocence and honesty feels almost nostalgic, as if we are suddenly transported to a world where intentions are pure and uncorrupted (no wonder if gave me the urge to read Perec!).
The overall sense of acceptance of one’s own quirkiness and of others’ way of living feels almost refreshing, especially in a world where we constantly feel scrutinised for our appearance, actions, personality. The freedom of being present in our own selves and lives is one we often fail to assert, but which should be our main priority.
Part travel novel, part coming of age, we follow 22 year old Lobbi as he leaves Iceland for a gardening job at a monastery in an unnamed land. This move comes as a consequence of life and death converging in his universe, with her mother passing and her daughter being born.
Passion runs through the veins of this novel and its characters. It is an ode to individuality - the cinephile priest with an almost religious belief in films carrying life lessons, Anna nurtures her heart with science, Lobbi and his new found creative drive for cooking, the respect for the brother’s muteness and willingness to connect only in his own terms,…
An original and moving account on fatherhood, self-discovery, passion for life and human connection.
Alluring, quirky, charming and incredibly heartwarming! Loved every minute spent with this book.
One of those books that feels like warm hug when you’re feeling down, a cup of hot tea on a rainy day, a delicious piece of pie that makes you involuntarily close your eyes to cherish and contain the joy within. It is subtle, tender, poignant and just beautiful.
Its undeniable atmosphere of innocence and honesty feels almost nostalgic, as if we are suddenly transported to a world where intentions are pure and uncorrupted (no wonder if gave me the urge to read Perec!).
The overall sense of acceptance of one’s own quirkiness and of others’ way of living feels almost refreshing, especially in a world where we constantly feel scrutinised for our appearance, actions, personality. The freedom of being present in our own selves and lives is one we often fail to assert, but which should be our main priority.
Part travel novel, part coming of age, we follow 22 year old Lobbi as he leaves Iceland for a gardening job at a monastery in an unnamed land. This move comes as a consequence of life and death converging in his universe, with her mother passing and her daughter being born.
Passion runs through the veins of this novel and its characters. It is an ode to individuality - the cinephile priest with an almost religious belief in films carrying life lessons, Anna nurtures her heart with science, Lobbi and his new found creative drive for cooking, the respect for the brother’s muteness and willingness to connect only in his own terms,…
An original and moving account on fatherhood, self-discovery, passion for life and human connection.
February 21, 2012
The Greenhouse is a surprisingly lovely little story, with as much left unsaid as said. A young man, someone who doesn't seem especially comfortable in his own skin, takes his love of gardening to a country new to him. And he has a daughter, conceived in a careless one-night, actually less than one night, stand. I couldn't help but cheer him on as he learns about love, relationships, being a father, all aided by a monk who has at least one film to recommend as answer to all of life's questions.
If you are looking for fast action, a convoluted plot, this might not be the book for you. If you are looking for a gentle story with beautiful writing, wonderful characters, you might very well love this one. Kudos, too, to the translator, Brian FitzGibbon. Although I am incapable of reading the original of this book, I felt like I was, not at all like I was reading a not-quite-right translation. Quite wonderful.
I was given an advance reader's copy of the book, for which I am grateful.
If you are looking for fast action, a convoluted plot, this might not be the book for you. If you are looking for a gentle story with beautiful writing, wonderful characters, you might very well love this one. Kudos, too, to the translator, Brian FitzGibbon. Although I am incapable of reading the original of this book, I felt like I was, not at all like I was reading a not-quite-right translation. Quite wonderful.
I was given an advance reader's copy of the book, for which I am grateful.
February 7, 2013
This book caught my eye for two main reasons. First, the title made me take my first look because I love all things gardening related. Then, the description of the book kept my attention because it described a story not only of the shared love of the title greenhouse between a son and his deceased mother, but it also told of the journey of the son to a remote monastery to restore its once fabulous gardens. Enough said...click...download...read...and I am glad to have done it.
I would describe this book as a very peaceful, coming of age story about a 22 year old Icelandic man who loves gardening, who suddenly finds himself a father following a one night stand which occurs in the title greenhouse. The story also details the man's journey from Iceland to a remote southern European monastary, in a country never named but which reminded me of Italy. His relationships with his father, his deceased mother, his autistic brother, his infant daughter and his child's mother are also detailed.
What I loved most about the story though was not the story itself, but the telling of the story. The journey of this book so to speak. The author has a way of writing that just drew me in, and it caused me to set aside all the other books I was reading so I could concentrate on finishing this one.
I also greatly enjoyed the Icelandic and European flavor of this novel, the descriptions the lifestyle, and of cooking and eating:
I loved the monastery setting:
I loved the movie collecting priest who shares his wisdom with our main character:
and how he believes that many lessons can be learned from his films:
But most of all I just loved the story. The telling of this story. It captivated me.
According to the "about the author" section at the back of this book, the book was first published in Iceland, then was translated to French where it has received much acclaim. It has now been translated and released in English.
I would describe this book as a very peaceful, coming of age story about a 22 year old Icelandic man who loves gardening, who suddenly finds himself a father following a one night stand which occurs in the title greenhouse. The story also details the man's journey from Iceland to a remote southern European monastary, in a country never named but which reminded me of Italy. His relationships with his father, his deceased mother, his autistic brother, his infant daughter and his child's mother are also detailed.
What I loved most about the story though was not the story itself, but the telling of the story. The journey of this book so to speak. The author has a way of writing that just drew me in, and it caused me to set aside all the other books I was reading so I could concentrate on finishing this one.
I also greatly enjoyed the Icelandic and European flavor of this novel, the descriptions the lifestyle, and of cooking and eating:
"I go back to the butcher and ask him how I'm supposed to cook the meat I bought from him half an hour ago. I'm wearing the white shirt. My question doesn't seem to surprise him in the least.
-Wasn't it veal?
-Yeah, that's right. Two pounds.
-Yeah, eight slices, should be enough for five adults he says.
-Yes, there were eight slices, I say. I've made some progress in the language; I can form short simple sentences and hold a conversation.
-You heat the pan, he says, then put four tablespoons of oil in it and fry the slices of meat in the oil, first on one side and then you turn them over and fry them on the other side. Then just salt and pepper. It doesn't take long.
-How long? I ask.
-Three minutes on each side.
-What about a sauce? I ask.
-You pour red wine over the pan when you've finished frying the meat and let the sauce sizzle a moment.
-How long?
-Two minutes.
-And spices?
-Salt and pepper."
I loved the monastery setting:
The village is perched on a rock spur and I immediately spot the monastery on top of the cliff. It's hard to believe that there's a garden up there that is referred to in every handbook on the cultivation of roses since the Middle Ages."
I loved the movie collecting priest who shares his wisdom with our main character:
"I discover that Father Thomas watches films in their original language without subtitles.
-It's very good practice, he says.
and how he believes that many lessons can be learned from his films:
"-There, he finally says, walking toward me with a tape in his hand. You can learn a lot about women's feelings by watching Antonioni. Have you got a video player yet?
But most of all I just loved the story. The telling of this story. It captivated me.
According to the "about the author" section at the back of this book, the book was first published in Iceland, then was translated to French where it has received much acclaim. It has now been translated and released in English.
May 14, 2018
Минус половин звездичка (от 2.5 станаха на 2) за безчувствената, първосигнална корица.
Героят не търпи развитие, а няма и особена дълбочина. Това, че е на 22, но практически лишен от способност да се удивлява, не помага. Разказва се за билдунгс-пътешествие в чужбина (какво по-благодатно?), но чужбината не е уточнена и опознаване няма. Няма конфликт, няма сблъсък, няма преображение, опасност, следователно и живот. Диалозите са бледи - на места очевидни, на места неубедителни. Срещите по пътя - доста намислени, често направо скалъпени (крайно неправдоподобно е самото наемане на главния герой - младеж от никъде без биография и доказателства, че ще се справи - като единствен градинар в една от най-старите и прочути градини в света / образът на отец Томас е такава патерица, че ми домъчнява за литературата), но без кой знае какъв смисъл от това. Травмите са две: една отнемаща и една с потенциал да дава, смърт и раждане - връщането към тях е толкова повторително, че и двете скоро се изтъркват. За цялата книга не научих нищо ново, освен че има ястие като пастет от таралеж. В средата откровено скучаех. Сближаването на "двамата млади" към края по-скоро ме доотегчи - нищо вълнуващо душата или тялото в него, никакво разкритие за любопитни екзистенциални механизми или обрати, абе нищо.
Не ми беше неприятно да чета, но след "Ангели на вселената" ми дойде като делничен преход с автобус по магистрала след спонтанен автостоп по черни пътища. Много отдавна не бях довършвала толкова едноизмерен, функционален, така да се каже, роман и се чудя какво ми има, че толкова ми липсват изненадите, експериментите, поезията в прозата, резките замисляния и катерения нанякъде, бодливото чувство за хумор, абсурдът, парадоксът и словесният взрив, при положение че не би трябвало да са правило. Нима не мога вече да чета равно? А кому е нужно?
Героят не търпи развитие, а няма и особена дълбочина. Това, че е на 22, но практически лишен от способност да се удивлява, не помага. Разказва се за билдунгс-пътешествие в чужбина (какво по-благодатно?), но чужбината не е уточнена и опознаване няма. Няма конфликт, няма сблъсък, няма преображение, опасност, следователно и живот. Диалозите са бледи - на места очевидни, на места неубедителни. Срещите по пътя - доста намислени, често направо скалъпени (крайно неправдоподобно е самото наемане на главния герой - младеж от никъде без биография и доказателства, че ще се справи - като единствен градинар в една от най-старите и прочути градини в света / образът на отец Томас е такава патерица, че ми домъчнява за литературата), но без кой знае какъв смисъл от това. Травмите са две: една отнемаща и една с потенциал да дава, смърт и раждане - връщането към тях е толкова повторително, че и двете скоро се изтъркват. За цялата книга не научих нищо ново, освен че има ястие като пастет от таралеж. В средата откровено скучаех. Сближаването на "двамата млади" към края по-скоро ме доотегчи - нищо вълнуващо душата или тялото в него, никакво разкритие за любопитни екзистенциални механизми или обрати, абе нищо.
Не ми беше неприятно да чета, но след "Ангели на вселената" ми дойде като делничен преход с автобус по магистрала след спонтанен автостоп по черни пътища. Много отдавна не бях довършвала толкова едноизмерен, функционален, така да се каже, роман и се чудя какво ми има, че толкова ми липсват изненадите, експериментите, поезията в прозата, резките замисляния и катерения нанякъде, бодливото чувство за хумор, абсурдът, парадоксът и словесният взрив, при положение че не би трябвало да са правило. Нима не мога вече да чета равно? А кому е нужно?
March 6, 2014
Dedicated to my mother
“And God said, Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed, which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree, in the which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed.” —Genesis 1:29
Opening: Because I’m leaving the country and it’s difficult to know when I’ll be back, my seventy-seven-year-old father is preparing a memorable last supper for me and is going to cook something from one of Mom’s handwritten recipes, the kind of thing Mom might have cooked on such an occasion.
—I was thinking of having fried haddock in breadcrumbs, he says, followed by cocoa soup with whipped cream.
I pick Jósef up from the care center in the seventeen-year-old Saab while Dad tries to sort out the cocoa soup. Jósef is standing eagerly on the sidewalk and clearly happy to see me. He’s in his Sunday best because I’m leaving, wearing the last shirt Mom bought him, violet with a pattern of butterflies.
Baad! Real Baad
“And God said, Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed, which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree, in the which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed.” —Genesis 1:29
Opening: Because I’m leaving the country and it’s difficult to know when I’ll be back, my seventy-seven-year-old father is preparing a memorable last supper for me and is going to cook something from one of Mom’s handwritten recipes, the kind of thing Mom might have cooked on such an occasion.
—I was thinking of having fried haddock in breadcrumbs, he says, followed by cocoa soup with whipped cream.
I pick Jósef up from the care center in the seventeen-year-old Saab while Dad tries to sort out the cocoa soup. Jósef is standing eagerly on the sidewalk and clearly happy to see me. He’s in his Sunday best because I’m leaving, wearing the last shirt Mom bought him, violet with a pattern of butterflies.
Baad! Real Baad
July 3, 2015
Jedna z nejpříjemnějších knih, co jsem kdy četla!
RECENZE
RECENZE
April 13, 2024
No había leído nada de esta autora y, le tenía ganas, en una lectura conjunta salió este libro suyo y no lo dudé, me ha parecido un acierto. En ella un joven emprende un pequeño viaje tanto espiritual como corporal, se muda a otro país del cual, ni siquiera sabemos el nombre, se marcha a un pueblo pequeño donde no se habla finlandés y se va haciendo entender poco a poco.
Con una escritura sencilla Audur nos va mostrando las indecisiones, los temores y la madurez que va llegando poco a poco. Me ha parecido una novela muy bonita y seguiré leyendo a la autora, es una delicia.
Con una escritura sencilla Audur nos va mostrando las indecisiones, los temores y la madurez que va llegando poco a poco. Me ha parecido una novela muy bonita y seguiré leyendo a la autora, es una delicia.
January 23, 2012
When 20 year old Arnljotor, or Lobbi as his father calls him, has a one night stand in his mother’s greenhouse, with a girl he barely knows, she gets pregnant. At the time, his life is unsettled; his mother has died, his elderly father wants him to pursue an advanced education degree, and his autistic brother is in an assisted living home. Lobbi loves working with plants and plans on traveling to a medieval monastery to help the monks bring their world renowned ancient garden back to its former glory. He is feeling torn between the life he wants and the life he leaves behind. The author has done a magnificent job bringing all the emotions and questions a young man goes through to find out what makes a man a man.
I smiled through 95% of this book—so simple, so exquisitely written—by the end I had a lump in my throat and bittersweet tears in my eyes. Timeless, subtle, I felt transported into the heart of the story and remembered each life discovery with a renewed freshness. One of my favorite quotes is when Lobbi recalls his daughters’ birth “I was alone with the child. She was awake and staring right back at me; my moment of carelessness made flesh was staring at me.” This is an AmazonCrossing publication, they translate foreign books into English to making them available to a wider audience and I am so glad they choose this author. Giving this one 5 stars and making it a favorite that I’ll read again. I read this advanced readers copy through the Amazon Vine program.
I smiled through 95% of this book—so simple, so exquisitely written—by the end I had a lump in my throat and bittersweet tears in my eyes. Timeless, subtle, I felt transported into the heart of the story and remembered each life discovery with a renewed freshness. One of my favorite quotes is when Lobbi recalls his daughters’ birth “I was alone with the child. She was awake and staring right back at me; my moment of carelessness made flesh was staring at me.” This is an AmazonCrossing publication, they translate foreign books into English to making them available to a wider audience and I am so glad they choose this author. Giving this one 5 stars and making it a favorite that I’ll read again. I read this advanced readers copy through the Amazon Vine program.
November 30, 2018
Tal vez no sea libro de cinco estrellas, tal vez no cuente ninguna historia espectacular, tal vez no tenga un ritmo uniforme, pero a mi me ha removido algo, me ha hecho frenar y leer varias veces algún capítulo para sacarle más capas, y para mi eso son, como poco, cinco estrellas.
August 31, 2012
E' consolante sapere che dal Nord Europa non arrivano solo gialli e thriller, ma anche romanzi 'normali', diciamo. Detto questo, sono molto contenta di aver speso 89 centesimi (per la versione ARC - in traduzione inglese - di Amazon) piuttosto che 17 euro (o 9,99 nel caso della versione digitale) per la traduzione italiana. The Greenhouse (Rosa candida in italiano): è un libro piacevole ma avevo altre aspettative.
Arnljótur Thórir (soprannominato dal padre, grazie al cielo, Lobbi) è un ventiduenne islandese (non credo venga mai nominata l'Islanda, ma i campi di lava, la ricetta della zuppa di cacao e altri particolari, nonché la nazionalità della scrittrice, puntano in questa direzione) che all'inizio del libro pranza con il padre settantasettenne e il fratello gemello autistico prima di partire per una destinazione mai specificata (ma che probabilmente è in Italia, visto che si fa riferimento a Sant'Antonio di Padova e all'Amaretto) per lavorare nel famoso giardino (roseto, per la maggior parte) di un monastero.
Lobbi partendo si lascia alle spalle non solo una potenziale carriera accademica che non lo interessa, ma anche il lutto per la morte della madre, avvenuta un paio di anni prima per incidente, e la figlioletta di pochi mesi, Flóra Sól, frutto di una mezzora sconsiderata insieme alla giovane Anna, amica di un amico. La madre di Lobbi ha lasciato un grande vuoto, ma è anche molto presente nella vita familiare: Lobbi pensa molto a lei, e "everytime Dad needs to add weight to his words, he summons mom from the grave to get her opinion" (ogni volta che papà ha bisogno di dare più importanza a quello che dice, richiama mamma dalla tomba per avere la sua opinione). Il padre inoltre dona a Lobbi piccoli segni della presenza della madre: prima di partire gli consegna l'ultimo barattolo di marmellata che aveva preparato, poi gli spedisce il suo libro di ricette e infine un maglione che aveva lavorato lei. Chi non ha una grande presenza nella vita di Lobbi è Anna, e con lei la figlia Flóra Sól. Lobbi sembra convinto che una breve imprudenza non possa influire più di tanto sulla sua vita, e così mantiene solo sporadici contatti con la figlia, e non cerca in nessun modo di trasformare l'incontro di una notte con Anna in qualcosa di più significativo.
Durante il suo viaggio verso il monastero (prima in aereo, poi in macchina seguendo la poco battuta pilgrim's way - la via dei pellegrini) Lobbi si pone molti interrogativi, sulla sua esistenza (che sembra sempre fragile e poco significativa nei suoi pensieri, sempre confrontata con quella di un'intera umanità, in confronto alla quale perde importanza) sui sui rapporti con le donne (nei quali non si è mai voluto impegnare, rifiutandosi di dormire per più di una volta con la stessa donna per evitare impegni) e sui suoi progetti per il futuro (che, fondamentalmente, si rifiuta di fare, nonostante le numerose sollecitazioni del padre). Forse il viaggio verso il monastero è un modo di evitare il confronto con la sua vita, che però alla lunga fallisce. L'obiettivo di Lobbi è quello di trapiantare nel roseto alcune talee dalle piante di rosa candida che la madre era riuscita a far prosperare nella sua serra. Il legame più forte tra Lobbi e la madre era proprio questo interesse profondo per il giardinaggio.
The Greenhouse è un libro interessante per le ambientazioni particolari, ma in definitiva mi ha deluso. Il protagonista Lobbi (sul cui flusso di coscienza ho qualche dubbio, ma non essendo donna non mi posso più di tanto esporre) prende un'unica decisione (quella di partire per il monastero) e per il resto per tutto il viaggio si limita a prendere atto di quanto il destino gli propone man mano. Anche il suo rapporto con gli altri personaggi (per quanto, a volte, appena conosciuti) sembra seguire la stessa falsa riga. Anche se tecnicamente questo è un romanzo di formazione, non mi sembra che ci sia un cambiamento in Lobbi: certo, impara ad amare la figlia e ad occuparsi di lei, ma in realtà sostanzialmente il suo carattere rimane estremamente passivo. Inoltre non ho ben capito il senso di tutta una serie di particolari (allegorici, immagino, ma di cosa?) su Flóra Sól: la bambina viene descritta identica a un Gesù ritratto in una chiesa, sembra che guarisca le persone, e che tutti nel paese la ritengano una taumaturga, e sicuramente Flóra Sól ha dei comportamenti ben inconsueti per una bambina di neppure un anno, eppure la cosa cade nel nulla, apparentemente.
Nel complesso un romanzo piacevole, interessante, anche ambizioso nelle intenzioni, ma che non riesce a realizzare le premesse in modo soddisfacente.
http://robertabookshelf.blogspot.it/2...
Arnljótur Thórir (soprannominato dal padre, grazie al cielo, Lobbi) è un ventiduenne islandese (non credo venga mai nominata l'Islanda, ma i campi di lava, la ricetta della zuppa di cacao e altri particolari, nonché la nazionalità della scrittrice, puntano in questa direzione) che all'inizio del libro pranza con il padre settantasettenne e il fratello gemello autistico prima di partire per una destinazione mai specificata (ma che probabilmente è in Italia, visto che si fa riferimento a Sant'Antonio di Padova e all'Amaretto) per lavorare nel famoso giardino (roseto, per la maggior parte) di un monastero.
Lobbi partendo si lascia alle spalle non solo una potenziale carriera accademica che non lo interessa, ma anche il lutto per la morte della madre, avvenuta un paio di anni prima per incidente, e la figlioletta di pochi mesi, Flóra Sól, frutto di una mezzora sconsiderata insieme alla giovane Anna, amica di un amico. La madre di Lobbi ha lasciato un grande vuoto, ma è anche molto presente nella vita familiare: Lobbi pensa molto a lei, e "everytime Dad needs to add weight to his words, he summons mom from the grave to get her opinion" (ogni volta che papà ha bisogno di dare più importanza a quello che dice, richiama mamma dalla tomba per avere la sua opinione). Il padre inoltre dona a Lobbi piccoli segni della presenza della madre: prima di partire gli consegna l'ultimo barattolo di marmellata che aveva preparato, poi gli spedisce il suo libro di ricette e infine un maglione che aveva lavorato lei. Chi non ha una grande presenza nella vita di Lobbi è Anna, e con lei la figlia Flóra Sól. Lobbi sembra convinto che una breve imprudenza non possa influire più di tanto sulla sua vita, e così mantiene solo sporadici contatti con la figlia, e non cerca in nessun modo di trasformare l'incontro di una notte con Anna in qualcosa di più significativo.
Durante il suo viaggio verso il monastero (prima in aereo, poi in macchina seguendo la poco battuta pilgrim's way - la via dei pellegrini) Lobbi si pone molti interrogativi, sulla sua esistenza (che sembra sempre fragile e poco significativa nei suoi pensieri, sempre confrontata con quella di un'intera umanità, in confronto alla quale perde importanza) sui sui rapporti con le donne (nei quali non si è mai voluto impegnare, rifiutandosi di dormire per più di una volta con la stessa donna per evitare impegni) e sui suoi progetti per il futuro (che, fondamentalmente, si rifiuta di fare, nonostante le numerose sollecitazioni del padre). Forse il viaggio verso il monastero è un modo di evitare il confronto con la sua vita, che però alla lunga fallisce. L'obiettivo di Lobbi è quello di trapiantare nel roseto alcune talee dalle piante di rosa candida che la madre era riuscita a far prosperare nella sua serra. Il legame più forte tra Lobbi e la madre era proprio questo interesse profondo per il giardinaggio.
The Greenhouse è un libro interessante per le ambientazioni particolari, ma in definitiva mi ha deluso. Il protagonista Lobbi (sul cui flusso di coscienza ho qualche dubbio, ma non essendo donna non mi posso più di tanto esporre) prende un'unica decisione (quella di partire per il monastero) e per il resto per tutto il viaggio si limita a prendere atto di quanto il destino gli propone man mano. Anche il suo rapporto con gli altri personaggi (per quanto, a volte, appena conosciuti) sembra seguire la stessa falsa riga. Anche se tecnicamente questo è un romanzo di formazione, non mi sembra che ci sia un cambiamento in Lobbi: certo, impara ad amare la figlia e ad occuparsi di lei, ma in realtà sostanzialmente il suo carattere rimane estremamente passivo. Inoltre non ho ben capito il senso di tutta una serie di particolari (allegorici, immagino, ma di cosa?) su Flóra Sól: la bambina viene descritta identica a un Gesù ritratto in una chiesa, sembra che guarisca le persone, e che tutti nel paese la ritengano una taumaturga, e sicuramente Flóra Sól ha dei comportamenti ben inconsueti per una bambina di neppure un anno, eppure la cosa cade nel nulla, apparentemente.
Nel complesso un romanzo piacevole, interessante, anche ambizioso nelle intenzioni, ma che non riesce a realizzare le premesse in modo soddisfacente.
http://robertabookshelf.blogspot.it/2...
June 26, 2020
Tout simplement un des romans les plus beaux, les plus envoutants que j'ai lu depuis tout un temps. Magnifique! A relire!
December 1, 2017
Toto je úžasná kniha. Nutne ju chcem vlastniť. Alebo sa aspoň vybrať na Island.
December 1, 2023
Estava jo molt bjork aquesta setmana i vaig dir va, vaig a llegir-me alguna cosa islandesa. El llenguatge és el millor del llibre, molt esponjós (busca la llum, tota l'estona)
March 29, 2017
Il ne se passe rien dans ce livre, ou presque. Et c'est très bien ainsi. Cela permet à l'auteure d'y déployer une poésie du quotidien et des choses simples. La beauté de la banalité, le goût aigre-doux de l'amour, voilà les sujets de ce livre touchant. Aucune finale à l'hollywoodienne, seulement un personnage masculin hors-norme qui se pose des questions à la fois uniques et universelles.
October 16, 2019
The Greenhouse by Auður Ava Ólafsdóttir, translated by Brian FitzGibbon, is a slow-moving, quiet novel about a young man’s coming of age.
The narrative unfolds in the first-person point of view of Arnljótur Thórir (Lobbi), a young man in his early twenties who harbors a passion for gardening, especially roses. The passion was instilled in him by his now deceased mother with whom he shared a special bond. Not fully recovered from her unexpected death in a car accident, Lobbi sets off on a journey to restore a famous rose garden in a monastery in a remote village. The village is never identified by name, but we know it is in a foreign country since Lobbi struggles with learning the language. He leaves behind his father, his mentally challenged twin brother, and his baby daughter conceived with a woman he barely knows and with whom he once had a brief sexual encounter in his parent’s greenhouse.
Lobbi is very introspective, awkward, constantly questions himself and his behaviors, and is painfully self-conscious. Arriving at his destination, he immerses himself in restoring the monastery garden. He is at his most comfortable when surrounded by flowers and when his fingers tunnel in the soil. He barely has time to get acclimatized to his new surroundings and to village life when the mother of his child shows up with baby in hand. They move in with him temporarily, causing him to adjust his daily routine and outlook.
This is a very simple story about the healing power of care-giving and nurturing and about the peace that can come from the performance of simple, daily tasks. The once neglected monastery garden begins to flourish as a result of Lobbi’s efforts. The tenderness and care he showers on the garden extend to his daughter and her mother. Lobbi learns how to care for a totally dependent human being, deriving unexpected satisfaction from his new role as a father. He finds his path in life through working with the soil and through the care-giving and loving relationship he forges with his daughter.
The novel’s pace is slow. Some readers may find it too slow. The progression is subtle. Lobbi’s thoughts are somewhat repetitive; his rationalizations and self-doubt constant to the point of almost becoming tedious. But the novel’s charm lies in its depiction of the power of simple, nurturing tasks that effect an individual’s transformation and growth. From learning to cook meals to teaching his young daughter to walk, Lobbi grows into his new role as a father, a role he embraces with total commitment and from which he derives a sense of peace and fulfillment.
Recommended.
The narrative unfolds in the first-person point of view of Arnljótur Thórir (Lobbi), a young man in his early twenties who harbors a passion for gardening, especially roses. The passion was instilled in him by his now deceased mother with whom he shared a special bond. Not fully recovered from her unexpected death in a car accident, Lobbi sets off on a journey to restore a famous rose garden in a monastery in a remote village. The village is never identified by name, but we know it is in a foreign country since Lobbi struggles with learning the language. He leaves behind his father, his mentally challenged twin brother, and his baby daughter conceived with a woman he barely knows and with whom he once had a brief sexual encounter in his parent’s greenhouse.
Lobbi is very introspective, awkward, constantly questions himself and his behaviors, and is painfully self-conscious. Arriving at his destination, he immerses himself in restoring the monastery garden. He is at his most comfortable when surrounded by flowers and when his fingers tunnel in the soil. He barely has time to get acclimatized to his new surroundings and to village life when the mother of his child shows up with baby in hand. They move in with him temporarily, causing him to adjust his daily routine and outlook.
This is a very simple story about the healing power of care-giving and nurturing and about the peace that can come from the performance of simple, daily tasks. The once neglected monastery garden begins to flourish as a result of Lobbi’s efforts. The tenderness and care he showers on the garden extend to his daughter and her mother. Lobbi learns how to care for a totally dependent human being, deriving unexpected satisfaction from his new role as a father. He finds his path in life through working with the soil and through the care-giving and loving relationship he forges with his daughter.
The novel’s pace is slow. Some readers may find it too slow. The progression is subtle. Lobbi’s thoughts are somewhat repetitive; his rationalizations and self-doubt constant to the point of almost becoming tedious. But the novel’s charm lies in its depiction of the power of simple, nurturing tasks that effect an individual’s transformation and growth. From learning to cook meals to teaching his young daughter to walk, Lobbi grows into his new role as a father, a role he embraces with total commitment and from which he derives a sense of peace and fulfillment.
Recommended.
April 3, 2016
Le jeune Arnljótur, vingt deux ans à peine, papa malencontreux et maladroit d'une petite Flóra Sól, quitte sa famille et son Islande natale, pour chercher un travail et une raison d'être dans une roseraie reculée du continent. Dans son sac, il emporte trois boutures d'une rose à huit pétales, héritage de sa mère morte récemment, qu'il voudrait faire revivre dans cette célèbre roseraie, sous le regard attentif de frère Thomas, moine cinéphile.
Le roman s'organise en un triptyque : la description de la vie en Islande, le voyage vers la roseraie, et la vie dans le village reculé, parmi les fleurs. Les éléments se distinguant dans ces trois parties trouvent de plus en plus d'écho au fur et à mesure de la progression narrative, comme l'écriture de la simplicité laisse sa place à la répétition, aux incohérences de l'esprit humain.
Arnljótur l'insulaire part vers une destination qui nous est inconnue, pour que vous puissiez mieux rêver avec lui : l'Andalousie ? L'Italie ? Comme il vous plaira. La description neutre des paysages, comme les appels à des thèmes finalement très généralistes - fleurs, religion chrétienne, place de la femme et de l'homme dans le couple moderne - touche à l'universel, et chaque lecteur qui en fait l'effort peut retrouver un bout de soi, dans une histoire qui reste très liminaire.
Nouveau roman picaresque, dont le comique serait devenu la réflexion végétale, et les obstacles rien de plus que ceux de notre quotidien, je comprends que l'écriture simple et douce de Rosa Candida ait ému tant de lecteurs. Contrairement à certains de mes amis goodreaders, je me suis laissée toucher par le rythme calme et lent, par le manque de sens apparent de certains passages, et j'ai beaucoup aimé la fin, qui s'inscrit justement dans la lignée du picaresque : Arnljótur se réalise malgré lui en tant qu'homme, en tant que fils, que frère, et que père. La masculinité s'est créée parmi les fleurs d'une roseraie dédiée à la chasteté, et à la divinité, et non pas dans la contemplation adolescente des corps féminins.
Par moments un brin agacée par certains clichés, ou par l'entrelacement hâtif de quelques thèmes. Mais avec quelques jours de recul, c'est l'impression de douceur qui reste de ma lecture.
Une lecture légère comme de la mousse, agréable au toucher et au penser, qu'on peut lire lors des hivers trop froids ou des étés trop chauds pour retrouver dans un coin de sa tête la douceur du printemps.
Le roman s'organise en un triptyque : la description de la vie en Islande, le voyage vers la roseraie, et la vie dans le village reculé, parmi les fleurs. Les éléments se distinguant dans ces trois parties trouvent de plus en plus d'écho au fur et à mesure de la progression narrative, comme l'écriture de la simplicité laisse sa place à la répétition, aux incohérences de l'esprit humain.
Arnljótur l'insulaire part vers une destination qui nous est inconnue, pour que vous puissiez mieux rêver avec lui : l'Andalousie ? L'Italie ? Comme il vous plaira. La description neutre des paysages, comme les appels à des thèmes finalement très généralistes - fleurs, religion chrétienne, place de la femme et de l'homme dans le couple moderne - touche à l'universel, et chaque lecteur qui en fait l'effort peut retrouver un bout de soi, dans une histoire qui reste très liminaire.
Nouveau roman picaresque, dont le comique serait devenu la réflexion végétale, et les obstacles rien de plus que ceux de notre quotidien, je comprends que l'écriture simple et douce de Rosa Candida ait ému tant de lecteurs. Contrairement à certains de mes amis goodreaders, je me suis laissée toucher par le rythme calme et lent, par le manque de sens apparent de certains passages, et j'ai beaucoup aimé la fin, qui s'inscrit justement dans la lignée du picaresque : Arnljótur se réalise malgré lui en tant qu'homme, en tant que fils, que frère, et que père. La masculinité s'est créée parmi les fleurs d'une roseraie dédiée à la chasteté, et à la divinité, et non pas dans la contemplation adolescente des corps féminins.
Par moments un brin agacée par certains clichés, ou par l'entrelacement hâtif de quelques thèmes. Mais avec quelques jours de recul, c'est l'impression de douceur qui reste de ma lecture.
Une lecture légère comme de la mousse, agréable au toucher et au penser, qu'on peut lire lors des hivers trop froids ou des étés trop chauds pour retrouver dans un coin de sa tête la douceur du printemps.
June 9, 2017
. Uma mãe que morre num acidente de automóvel;
. Um pai extremoso;
. Um rapaz autista;
. Uma menina - fruto de um fugaz encontro sexual - bela como um anjo e que faz milagres;
. Um jovem a caminho do mais belo jardim do mundo para lá cultivar uma rosa rara;
. Uma jovem dividida entre o amor e a carreira;
. Um monge apaixonado por cinema.
Envolve-se tudo; tempera-se com umas gotas de corante rosa; polvilha-se com alguma auto-ajuda. Serve-se morno, acompanhado de um pouco de fé.
Não gosto muito destes petiscos, mas este está bem confeccionado e até me soube bem.
. Um pai extremoso;
. Um rapaz autista;
. Uma menina - fruto de um fugaz encontro sexual - bela como um anjo e que faz milagres;
. Um jovem a caminho do mais belo jardim do mundo para lá cultivar uma rosa rara;
. Uma jovem dividida entre o amor e a carreira;
. Um monge apaixonado por cinema.
Envolve-se tudo; tempera-se com umas gotas de corante rosa; polvilha-se com alguma auto-ajuda. Serve-se morno, acompanhado de um pouco de fé.
Não gosto muito destes petiscos, mas este está bem confeccionado e até me soube bem.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 697 reviews