Audur Ava Olafsdottir's The Greenhouse (Afleggjarinn) is a thoughtful, introspective story about a young man dealing with several life-altering events. It's a quiet sort of story where not a lot really happens, but it turned out to be perfect reading during a season of hustle and bustle. It makes the reader slow down and contemplate not so much the greater outside world but more so the closed inner world of the human heart. I suppose in a sense this is a coming of age tale, though the protagonist is on the cusp of adulthood, but over the course of the story he grows and takes on more responsibility both for his own life and for those he loves. Olafsdottir is an Icelandic author who has published three novels, a book of poetry and a play. The Greenhouse (translated by Brian FitzGibbon) has won or been nominated for all sorts of awards, and after being quite swept away by the story, I'm not at all surprised.
The family greenhouse is central to this story. It's the place Lobbi loves most, where he spent so much of his time with his mother, learned the art of horticulture and conceived his small daughter. At the opening of the story, however, Lobbi is preparing to go away from his home in Iceland to travel to a remote Medieval monastery in Southern Europe where he'll undertake the task of renovating their once famous rose garden which has fallen into a state of disrepair. It's a dream job, but the timing is bittersweet since his mother has only recently died in a tragic automobile accident. And now Lobbi is leaving behind not only his septuagenarian father and autistic twin brother but also his new daughter.
Flóra Sól is the result of an unplanned amorous evening he spent with a friend of a friend. Lobbi barely knew Anna when he passed less than half a night with her only to discover after his travel plans are made that she is pregnant. Slipping a photo of his daughter into his wallet he sets off with three cuttings of a rare eight-petaled rose that his mother teased from the rocky barren ground to transplant in the monastery's garden. It's a long journey that takes Lobbi across several borders and includes detours when he suddenly takes ill and must remain in hospital and then later must repay the hospitality of an innkeeper by driving his daughter to another village, but it gives Lobbi the opportunity to reflect on his life.
The reader is never told exactly where the monastery is located but it is far up in the mountains and difficult to get to. The village is small and most of the inhabitants are older, but they are welcoming to Lobbi who tries to assimilate into the community by learning their language, a language spoken by even fewer people than those who speak his own native tongue. He's something of a curiosity to the locals, but they seem equally quirky. He's befriended by one of the monks who has a passion for movies and can liken almost any situation or difficulty to those he's seen on film, and they often end up as an inspiration for advice he gives to Lobbi. Just when he gets into a rhythm of village life and work in the garden, Anna calls and unexpectedly asks him to take care of Flóra Sól while she prepares for an important examination as part of her studies.
Although Lobbi's life was already in an upheaval, everything changes when Flóra Sól and the mother of his child arrive. He had been trying to understand his own conflicting emotions--his constant thoughts of the body (and the bodies of the few young women around him) and death (no doubt brought to the fore by his mother's death), though both were slightly tempered by his work with his beloved roses. And now he must learn how to become a father as well. There is something angelic and calming about the even tempered Flóra Sól who helps put Lobbi's life back into perspective.
There's so much to like about this story. It's beautifully written and seamlessly translated. It's a simple but heartfelt story that flows yet has hidden depths to it. The imagery can be taken at face value, but if the reader cares to mull it over there is so much more to consider--death yet a new life, a journey for one who is seeking answers and truths, the simple joy of transforming a rose garden and nurturing its contents but that simple act also helps nurture the gardener, too (if that makes sense). And then there is the juxtaposition of places and people; Olafsdottir contrasts Lobbi's home in Iceland and his family beautifully with the lushness of this unnamed city and the eccentricities of the various characters in the story. Perhaps at its most basic it is about finding beauty in everyday life, which is certainly an important thing to contemplate with the new year (and new beginnings) so close at hand.
My copy came courtesy of the author's publicist. I only wish her other books were available in English.