A hundred doors swinging in all directions

Steinunn Sigurdardottir

Crédit photo : EP

I was having lunch in a restaurant on Place Toudouze when I discovered what was missing. A lover. A real lover, with sweet words, laying on of hands and all the rest. How could I not have thought of this sooner?

Why did he dwell on an impossible love for twenty-five years? And why, all this time, have you imposed on yourself a desolate, white, fleshless life? Back in Paris, Brynhildur recalls her youth, the cold waters where the irresistible Icelander lost her Greek teacher, and her eroticism along with it. In the tone of an indecent confession, a free spirit with a wry wit takes stock of a life in which love is the key. Love is her lack.

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For some years now, audiences and critics have been raving about not just thrillers, but the entire literary scene from the icy land of Iceland. So – needless to say – we thought we’d give it a try, to find out what lies behind this enduring, almost monomaniacal enthusiasm for the Nordic island.

On the back cover, it said: “Steinunn Sigurdardottir’s playful, cheeky magician explores the troubles of passion and the ravages of time”. The sentence should have given us cause for alarm, but we read the book with confidence…

Crédit photo : EP

It would seem that taxing the work of an Icelandic writer with “It’s sorely lacking in realism!” is a real offense. And yet… From beginning to end, this woman’s story, in the age of heart check-ups, doesn’t even make sense – not even a little – and (worse) almost displaces the notion of dream into the realm of situational comedy.

The scene of the purchase of the screen for “five thousand francs, for you” (p. 26), which turns into a sexual orgy in Ali-Baba’s secret cave, earns its place at number 1.

Built around a triptych of lovers (“Ali-Baba”, the abstinent and/or frigid and/or perverse Greek teacher, and finally Bardur), the book is a bore. Indeed, the male figures we’d like to see carry the text by their charisma or their singular way of investing the main character’s life (however long it lasts) are superimposed one on top of the other with perfect indifference.

Despite its low page count, the book also seems excessively long, given the total absence of twists and turns, and the soft melancholy that seems to have set its sights everywhere.

Elisa Palmer

A hundred doors swinging in all directions

Steinunn Sigurdardottir

Editions Héloïse d'Ormesson

15€

124 pages

Cette publication est également disponible en : Français (French)