I found myself reading slower than usual throughout this book just to savor the vivid depictions of the Icelandic landscape, the farm, and the compelling characters, like this description of Ketill, the nearest neighbor: “The old farmer, unfolded himself like an arthritic insect, lanky and unbending, his false teeth clacking in his mouth” (22).

Taking place on a cattle farm in Western Iceland, the story is narrated by Orri who’s in his early 30s in the prologue but only 20 when the story begins, a time when he’s remembering the first calf birth he witnessed as a child and also a time when he is torn between his love of the farm and the expectation of continuing college. 

So this is sort of a young man’s coming of age story but also a story of Iceland’s landscape–volcanic rock, tough soil, moss and rain and mud–Iceland’s mountainous geography, and Orri’s complicated, loving parents. His Lithuanian Jewish mother is a university professor who wraps hay bales on the weekends, and his Icelandic, reticent father is a 3rd generation farmer who insists on  maintaining a closed herd of Galloway cattle–high quality meat that requires high maintenance and overwintering. Neither Mamma nor Pabbi is particularly happy in this bare-hands farming life, but for a long time, they endure it. 

Rykug, the rust-red Australian kelpie, an indispensable farmhand, is almost a main character, bringing an energy and love that seems beaten down in Pabbi. And Amma, Orri’s pulmonologist grandma comes and goes in the story and in their lives, visiting the farm with optimism (and some funding), and then happily returning to her work and hospital in Reykjavik. 

I enjoyed every page, every moment, and every character in this beautiful novel of a place and a people and of patience. 

I liked this so much that I ordered his debut novel, The Memoirs of Stockholm Sven, and I keep reminding myself that I need a lot of fiction in my life right now.