You say it is a habit to live, to be alive, that you, like anyone, think it is hard to change. You imagine, it will bring grief, unrest, as the effort to change any habit does. Like quitting smoking, you say. Or maybe I said that, that thing about smoking. Your face, exhausted, old, is silent now, a much older person lives in you, a tenant, one who roams around, wears out your features, pulls at them, a parasite who chews and digests your food and does not leave enough nutrition for you, who stingily throws out the leftovers, takes up more and more room until you are left with no more than a forgotten part of yourself, a shed, a shelter, where no one can be.
Merethe has picked up her family and moved out to the countryside. Here, at the office in the house on the other side of the field and road, between light days and sleepless light nights, she writes and conjures up the story of Mass, who she lives with.
It is the story of a strong love, exceeding all else. Of how it feels to be so close to a person, who does not always wish to live. About the fear and about pulling through after all.
Úr vetrarskjølunum (From the winter documents) is an acutely relevant, deeply personal novel. Through transparent depictions of the conditions of individuals, who find themselves in an existential crisis facing hopelessness in life, the author reflects on her own story.
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