Ungarska forlagið Polar Konyvek, hevur norðurlendskan skaldskap sum sítt serøki og fevnir um so víða gitin nøvn sum Karen Blixen, Jon Fosse, Auður Ava Ólafsdóttir og Oddfríð Marna Rasmussen. Nú hevur forlagið so fingið eyga á verkið hjá Sólrun og hevur givið báðar tær fyrstu út. Tann triðja verður á marknaðinum í vetur.

Stórur bókafagnaður varð hildin í Budapest í døgunum 2.-5. oktober, og í tí sambandi bjóðaði forlagið Sólrún at leggja bøkurnar fram fyri ungarar.

Samrøða var við bókmentaprofessara, sum spurdi á enskum. Sólrún svaraði á føroyskum, og týðarin týddi til ungarsk, so øll skuldu skilja. Tað riggaði. 

Hon varð spurd, hvussu hon hevði pentað hesa søguna saman, og hvussu hon hevði evnað hesar søguligu persónarnar. Hvussu hon bar seg at við at gera øll so samansett sum menniskju, hóast kvinna týðiliga var í brennideplinum. 

Hann var m.a. forvitin og fregnaðist, hvussu ungarar skuldu kunna skilja kríggið, ið lýst varð, samanborðið við tað kríggj, tey upplivdu í Ungarn. Ein eyðsýndur munur, sum tóktist hava stóran áhuga.

Síðan skifti hann prátið yvir á yrkingina um lagnutráðin, og hvussu høvundurin fataði lagnuna og hennara gátufullu leiðir. 

Fólk visti eyðvitað einki um Føroyar og føroyskar bókmentir, men Sólrún heldur seg hava varhuga av, at teimum dámdi bókina. 

Sólrún las eisini brot úr bókunum á føroyskum, sum ein sjónleikari síðan las á ungarskum. Tað riggaði so stak væl.

Niðanfyri er eitt ummæli, ið stóð í bløðunum.

The Stark Reality of Denmark and the Faroe Islands –
Recommended by Róbert Bak: "Silver", the first volume of the Thread of Fate trilogy by Sólrún Michelsen

In recent times, Faroese literature has come quite close to my heart. So—even though I had never even heard of it before—I jumped on Silver, the first volume of Sólrún Michelsen’s Thread of Fate trilogy, without hesitation. It’s worth knowing that the author, born in 1948, is one of the leading figures of Faroese literature and has written poetry, children's books, short stories, and novels.

The slender book begins with a tragedy (a mother and child die during childbirth), which brings together the three main characters: the woman’s two daughters—nine-year-old Helena and sixteen-year-old Kathrina—and Moe, the recently ordained priest who conducts the funeral service. The author doesn’t rush the story, allowing us time to get to know our protagonists over the years: the spirited Helena, whose only desire is to escape the island and find a job she enjoys; the beautiful Kathrina, who becomes a surrogate mother to her siblings for years, and later—through a stroke of luck—ends up in Copenhagen working as a maid; and the almost fanatically religious Moe, who falls hopelessly in love with the older girl but, due to his strict upbringing, is unable to express his feelings.

“The boat trip to Denmark went smoothly. The weather was mostly good. Lying in her cabin, Kathrina thought about how significant it was that she had left home. On one hand, she was very happy and excited; on the other, she felt guilty. She could almost see how much trouble her grandmother would have with Helena, who would be taking over her duties. But Grandmother was adamant that she take the opportunity in Denmark. She tolerated no resistance. It was as if, through her, she too could glimpse the promised land she herself had never reached.”

Because the characters live both on these small islands and in Denmark, and interact with people from various social backgrounds, the novel serves as an excellent medium to portray the contrasts between Faroese life and that of the mainland. (While young women on the islands are left with only two options—becoming a maid for a wealthy landowner or working in a fish processing plant—in Copenhagen, they might live with a lover without marrying, and topics like women’s voting rights or the eight-hour workday are already being discussed.) Michelsen makes no compromises in this regard, so don’t expect a twisty plot—just the raw, bare reality. Personally, I love this kind of portrayal.

This book deserves to reach as many people as possible—not only because it’s a great example of Nordic-style realism, but also because it’s full of interesting characters and speaks volumes about the fate of women in the early 20th century. What more could one ask for?

The language is clear, unembellished—saying exactly what needs to be said, no more, no less. Michelsen doesn’t try to enchant; she doesn’t sugarcoat pain, sacrifice, or helplessness. The novel progresses slowly, almost imperceptibly deepening, but by the time you finish, it somehow stays with you: that salty, windy, terse world where every small decision carries weight.

Here, the island is not just a setting—it’s a condition. A space of isolation, confinement, longing, and forced adaptation. It’s not about big dramas but the gray compromises of everyday life—exactly the kind most of us have experienced in one form or another. Perhaps that’s why it resonates so deeply.

If you're looking for fast-paced twists and flashy resolutions, you’ll likely be disappointed. But if you enjoy intelligent, sensitive, slowly unfolding stories where even the tiniest shift carries meaning, this book is a true gem. I’ll definitely continue reading the trilogy.