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Our Assessment:
B : charming if somewhat loosely assembled little work See our review for fuller assessment.
From the Reviews: - Return to top of the page - The complete review's Review:
A Parish Chronicle is a slim novel of the Mosfellsdalur Valley, near Reykjavík, -- where no one less than "Iceland's national hero and chief poet Egill Skallagrímsson" is buried.
While the chronicle offers some sweep of history it pivots around near the turn of the twentieth century -- though there is certainly (and Laxness makes much of) a sense of timelessness to the story, and to life there.
The crux of the story is the dismantling of the local church -- not for the first time --, finally seen through some 120 years after: "the Danish king ordered its removal in 1774" (as: "the people of Iceland were instructed to consolidate churches throughout the country for reasons of economy").
The most significant of the various colorful characters are the last two to defend the church, "a certain aged farmer at Hrísbrú named Ólafur Magnússon, and an indigent girl, a maid of the priest at Mosfell, named Guðrún Jónsdóttir", as well as then the one responsible for a new church being built decades later, consecrated in 1965, Stefán Þorláksson.
It has been argued that Icelanders are swayed little by rational arguments, and hardly economic ones, either, yet even less by religious rationale, but solve their problems by splitting hairs and arguing over irrelevant trifles, and become terrified and dumbstruck when it comes to the heart of the matter.Repeatedly, Laxness describes a passivity that is deceptive in its seemingly complete calm -- as when the locals make hay ("those bearded men toiling there at three o'clock in the morning, almost motionless in the grass, hunched over their scythes, perhaps asleep") or in describing how the sheep-herders control their flocks: It’s a wonder that men so unadept at walking should spend their lives competing in a long-distance race with swiftly bounding sheep. But incredible as it may seem, those stiff-legged men, only moderately sharp-sighted and prone to congestion, always had it better in the race against those lightning-fast creatures, which was, I think, because they always moved so slowly that the sheep lost interest in the game; partly also because although the sheep is stubborn, these men were a sight stubborner.So also Stefán's father, Shorty-Láki (also known as Ash-Láki), who takes him in when his mother dies but doesn't provide much more than a roof over the boy's head and food, lives a very humble, simple life -- yet eventually leaves his son a stunning legacy. Long before it comes to that, Stefán runs away from his father -- and is taken in by Ólafur (the boy is invited: "to stay the night. He stayed for twenty years"). The routines of slow-paced life have basically been unchanged in all these parts for a very long time, but the modern world begins to make itself felt here as well: At that time, the first automobiles were being imported into the country, introducing new marvels to this nation of farmers who had worked with the same implements since the year 900 [...]. Soon, surrounded by these new, uncanny inventions, no farmer recognized himself any longer, and the poets began lamenting their loss of identity in print.Stefán is at the vanguard -- while forging a path of typical Laxnessian quirkiness, remaining true to himself and his home(land). Laxness' protagonists are independent-minded and strong-willed -- if also, to varying degrees odd-ball. A Parish Chronicle is, like many of his novels, a loving portrait of Iceland and Icelander (complete with and taking particular note of their foibles and eccentricities). The church-story makes for some of the connections -- and the pieces, down to the missing chalice, do come together in the conclusion --, but mostly this is a rather loosely assembled, meandering novella. So also, typically, in recounting Guðrún Jónsdóttir's story: I, the undersigned, felt that the story of these two women of our district, who spoke to each other only once and never since, needed something more by way of closure. They were truly in a world of their own, these women. I waited and waited, but nothing more came.It's all quite charming, with some very nicely presented episodes, but all in a somewhat loose assemblage. It's a nice little work, but, as its size might suggest, relatively minor, compared to Laxness' sturdier novels. - M.A.Orthofer, 21 February 2026 - Return to top of the page - A Parish Chronicle:
- Return to top of the page - Icelandic author Halldór Laxness (actually: Halldór Guðjónsson) lived 1902 to 1998. He won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1955. - Return to top of the page -
© 2026 the complete review
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