#32 The Seducer

Life has a way of winding it's way around a theme sometimes. Over a year ago I was surfing around the internet and found a picture of an author in his living room. I was struck by the coziness and feeling of light he had achieved with the room, and by the beautiful wood-burning oven nestled in the corner. I did not recognize the name of the author, but took note of the site and showed it to my partner since we were having conversations about decorating her apartment, and I thought it was a good example of what she was trying to achieve. I remember showing it to her and her response being "Oh, it's Jan Kjærstad." This meant nothing to me, and I promtly forgot it.

Shortly thereafter I was given a list of essay topics for my final paper for a Social Studies didactics course I was taking at the University. I remember quickly reading through the list of topics and deciding upon one that sparked my interest.

A month or so passed and I was in the library one Saturday afternoon browsing the English section for something to read. I happened upon a translation of The Seducer by Jan Kjærstad and took it home with me. I started reading that afternoon. The narrative hooked me from the first page. Before long I tracked down the other two books in the trilogy and proceeded to devouer them too. I typically read quite quickly, yet did my utmost to slow down in order to savour what I knew was a book that would become my favourite. I couldn't remember the last time I had been so consumed by a story.

The Seducer, The Conquerer, and The Discoverer are about of (the fictional character) Jonas Wergeland through snapshot stories of his life. Each volume in the trilogy tells his story (and essentially the same story) using new events, angles and perspectives to allow the reader to discover who he is.

The most captivating aspect of the books was the crecendo of storytelling. Kjærstad wove his stories with objects, events, and ideas; only for the same object to re-emerge in a different context adding meaning and colour to the present and previous stories. Seemingly unrelated ideas and snapshots are told, adding and adding to the story the way that each brushstroke contributes to the whole of a painting; although the full picture is not always evident until it's completed.

As I started the second novel in the trilogy I happened to go back and re-read the essay topics I'd been given a few months before. One of them, it turns out, was based on a quote by Jan Kjærstad that had previously lacked context or meaning for me. Now it jumped out at me, demanding to be written about, so I promptly changed my topic. The quote was from a 1997 essay (I loosly translated it myself):

"There exists today more than enough information, that which we are missing are the links between information. I will call this challenge the linking-problem of our time, not just with respect to literature, but for culture as a whole. Today we have tons of undeniable half-truths, but few full hypotheses." - Jan Kjærstad

The essay topic asked me to use this quote as the basis of a discussion and analysis of how teaching in the Social Sciences can strive to solve the linking-problem Kjærstad identifies. Being in the middle of reading three of his novels, I had a keen sense of what it was he was referring to. His writing wove stories and dissimilar ideas into the tapestry of a man's life - through his method of storytelling Kjærstad solved his linking-problem without being so obvious as to draw a red line from one point to the next.

In light of my looming essay I started to do some research about the author and stumbled once again upon the photograph of him in his livingroom. In that moment it seemed as though I had come full-circle and experienced first-hand the filaments of links that sometimes appear in life; a number of unrelated events which enrich the whole when they finally connect into something greater.

#31 Fresh snow under my skis

Yesterday it was -10, sunny, and there was fresh snow on the ground. Perfect weather for skiing!

I had been planning all week to go skiing with a new friend from work whom I recently found out likes skiing too. When I woke up I just knew that it would be a great day for it. The air smelled so fresh, and the sun had that warm "Påskeferie" (Easter vacation) feeling to it.

It turned out the my friend had arranged that a whole bunch of her other friends would go skiing too. Seven of us loaded into two cars and headed for a local conservation area. There were some good little dips and turns in the trails, but the best part was that the lake was frozen. We skied out over the smooth snow on the ice, past a bunch of people ice fishing over to the other side of the lake. A residential area backs onto the lake, and there were 2 big rinks that had been shoveled off and kids and teenagers were skating and playing hockey. It was so nice to see kids outside playing on a sunny Saturday afternoon instead of stuck in front of a screen indoors.

Not only did I get to ski, I had the bonus of meeting a new group of great people. After skiing we got together for hot chocolate at Emily's house. It turns out that they all live within a few blocks of my new place. I loved being able to walk the one block home from visiting with new friends with my boots crunching in the snow, and my skiis over my shoulder. Life couldn't be better.

#30 Moving Company

It's been a busy few weeks. I moved to a new apartment.

My parent's were away, and it was the day after New Years Eve, so I decided that despite offers from friends to help me move that I would hire movers.

Holy smokes! It was freaking amazing. They arrived at 8:15 am, and by 10am all my stuff was in my new apartment, the furniture was placed in the right spots and I was signing the visa slip and shaking their hands.

My back was spared, it only took 2 hours, and I didn't have to torture any of my friends!
Never again will I rent a u-haul.

#29 O Holy Night

"O Holy Night" has been my favourite Christmas carol for years. It developed special significance over a decade ago when a good friend died just before the holidays after a long illness. I was unable to attend her funeral, but had heard that an opera-singer friend had sung at at the service.

A few weeks later, closer to Christmas, I attended a concert in a church with a blue ceiling the colour of a perfect summer day and golden stars painted upon it. I attended the concert because I knew the opera-singer friend would be performing. Towards the end of the evening she sang "O Holy Night" and as she sang that song it felt as though she were singing my grief over the loss of my friend, and my joy of fond memories, into music.

On Christmas Dayof this year I was listening to the radio hoping to hear "O Holy Night" since I hadn't had the chance to hear it this year. I had been thinking of the song for a few days, and was disappointed at not having heard it.

This afternoon I was driving to Toronto to visit a friend for the afternoon. I was listening to a favourite Sunday program that hosts musical guests. It was the Christmas special, and the musical guest for the day was Matt Anderson. Halfway through the programme he sang "O Holy Night". At first I didn't even register the fact that it was that particular song, but suddenly as he came to the chorus his voice filled the car, and filled my heart and my voice rose from my chest and I joined him:

Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!
O night divine, the night when Christ was born;
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!

As I sang the tears streamed down my face and I knew that my Christmas was complete.

#28 Driving at Night

I was driving home from a friend's house two nights ago. It was a crisp, clear night and the temperature was hovering at about -10. In the distance I noticed a strange phenomenon with the lights in the night sky; they seemed to be shining straight up, directly into the sky, similar to those spotlights you sometimes see from big events or dance clubs in big cities.

At first I thought it was just that my windows were a bit fogged causing an illusion of some sort. I rolled down my window and took a look in the direction of the city I was approaching and realized that it was some sort of an effect probably caused by the crisp clear air.

As I kept driving I took in the sight of what looked to be hundreds of spotlights shining straight-up through the night sky towards the stars. Each beam glowed brightly in the centre, and softly at the edges. It was a beautiful sight that reminded me of the northern lights.

#27 Obama in Oslo

His speech is here.

According to a Norwegian professor, it is destined to be one of the most influential Nobel speeches in history. He philosophizes on what it means to receive the Peace Prize as the Commander-in-Chief of a nation at war.

Han tør å ta i bruk de store ordene. Han tør å snakke om kjærlighet, om tro, om det gudommelige, på en sterk og tydelig måte. Det bærer preg av at han har mot til å trekke frem de store spørsmålene, og han får det til å fungere, uten at det blir hult, patetisk eller latterlig. Han går sterkt ut, og får det til å bære. - Jan Svennevig

#26 CBC Radio Does it Again

I left work a bit early today, and got to hear "And the winner is" on CBC this afternoon.

The interview was by Anna Maria Tremonti as she interviewed CBC reporter Mellissa Fung.

Fung was kidnapped in Afghanistan and held by her kidnappers for 28 days. The interview took place 2 days after her release. The interview started with Fung describing that she had been visiting a refugee camp on the outskirts of Kabul that morning, and on her way back into the car as they were getting ready to leave, another car pulled up. The next thing she knew two men were trying to grab her, she punched one of them, got stabbed in the shoulder for her efforts, and suddenly found herself on the floor of their car covered up with her scarf and 2 bags as they drove away.

She was taken into the mountains and was shown the hole, no larger than the seat of a chair, that she was expected to crawl into. She refused, and was thrown in. She realized it was a small tunnell that lead to a tiny room the size of a closet. She spent the next 28-days buried underground in this hole. Because she is a woman, a man guarded her during most of her ordeal (if she had been a man, she would have just been chained and left). She was only fed juice and cookies, and there were two small vents to allow air into the hole. The vents were covered with rocks, and the entrance to the hole was filled in every time someone came or left so as not to be noticed.

Her release was negotiated, and only once she was safely out of Afghanistan was the story released. The news agencies had all known about her kidnapping, but had agreed not to report about it in order to facilitate the negotiations.

The thing that struck me the most about the interview was Fung's calm, and reflection. Two days after being released her biggest worry was that she had never had the chance to publish her story about the refugee camp. She spent 28 days in a cold, damp, dark hole in the ground, in the middle of Afghanistan somehwere, stabbed in the shoulder, not able to move for lack of space, eating only cookies and juice, and her biggest concern was that the fact that the real victims of war, the innocent bystanders-turned-refugees who have lost their homes and livelihooods won't have their stories told.

The entire interview was gripping, I sat in driveway listening until a break for 90 seconds of news, then ran inside to listen to the rest. She was so matter-of-fact about it all, and gave such good descriptions. The interview is worth a listen.