Independent People

No, while there's a breath of life left in me, nothing will make me go to her... But if I die, you can tell her from me that she may lay me out.-Bjartur

Faroe Islands “Hipster Iceland”—Photo Provided By Author

“Does your father want anything?” inquired the man.
”Sheep,” replied the boy.
—Halldór Laxness, Independent People

When asked about his voyage to Iceland Hrafna-Flóki Vilgerðarson answered that the land was worthless. Later, he returned to Iceland and lived there until his death.

It is remarked time and time again by Bjartur of the Summerhouses (not Winterhouses may he remind you) that he respected the Reverend Gundmundur not for his religious vocation but for his remarkably sturdy breed of sheep. Here was a religious devotee out of spite for the men who thought of nothing but sheep and dogs and at the same time was the best scientific breeder of sheep. In other words, he was the perfect Icelander.

Emerson once remarked that even the thoughts of turtle are turle. The thoughts of Icelandic settlers fixated on one thing—Independence. This independence lies in the half-starved worm-infested intestine of the Icelandic sheep. These sheep were owned by the half-crazed and also half-starving Independent Icelandic Men who never transacted a business deal worth more than a couple of dollars. Their dream is to become landed owners and boy did they get slaughtered. Jomsvikings no longer take to the sea but battle with cruel cursed soil and dark cold winters that blot out the sun.

In Orwell’s 1984, the terminology of words has been so radically altered that the term freedom doesn’t even mean freedom. It is impossible to think of new words because Big Brother has enveloped the conversation. Dissent is calculated, and war is freedom. All the thoughts are Big Brother….

The settlers of the Rauthsmyri district of Iceland have to deal with the wealthy Rauthsmyri family. The husband is a bailiff and the wife is an agrarian spiritual poet worthy of a George Sand novel. For fifteen years, Bjartur has toiled under them. When he saved enough money, he bought a patch of land from them that is supposed to be haunted by the long-dead sorceress Kolumkilli.

Bjartur wants to be free. But his version of freedom only lies in becoming a wealthier version of the Rauthsmyris. All the thoughts of turtle….Thus his freedom is not actual freedom but the desire to run further than any member of the herd. It is not even the freedom of the rebel who at least runs in a different direction with the anti-herd.

This is simply nothing but a painful waste of life. Economics agrees with Plato’s injunction that the like draws the like. Even Bjartur’s dog proves to be a better philosopher because he barks at strangers and wags her tail at friends. Those with resources—attract more resources.

Which is what Bjartur cannot understand. His first wife worked for the Rauthsmyris and is believed to be pregnant by the son of the Rauthsmyri estate. It is the Rauthsmyris who sell Bjartur a cow after a few successful years. It is the Rauthsmyri son who loans Bjartur thousands of dollars to build a house. And it is the daughter of the Rauthsmyris who unknowingly or knowingly bewitches Bjartur’s son into throwing away his chance to go to America because of young love.

What did Bjartur gain from all his toils under the sun? Bjartur’s first wife dies after childbirth and the child survives to be raped by a poorly chosen criminal-consumptive tutor. She is kicked out of the house by Bjartur for the actions of a man he chose while he was away. The cow had to be killed after a terrible winter which leads to his second wife giving up the ghost. The house was poorly constructed and then foreclosed on when the World War Two boom ends. It was known as the Blessed War because the fighting forced people to buy Icelandic products at higher-than-average prices at an international market rate. When these tragedies are over, Bjartur is as poor as he was when the novel began. We last see him marching south to the land of his almost centurion Mother-in-law with his son and newly reunited daughter in tow. She has consumption and will not last long. In Iceland, all is well and as it should be.

The story of Jesus portrays his humble beginnings. Away in a manger with no crib for a bed. How about the birth of Bjartur’s daughter Asta Sollilja? Her mother lies dead in her bed and Bjartur is lost in a winterstorm looking for the ewe his wife secretly ate. When Bjartur returns the only thing that kept Asta alive was the warm cuddles of the flea-bitten and lice-ridden dog. When exiled by her father for being raped—Astra remarks that she will never go back even if her father crawled to her on his hands and knees. She wouldn’t even dream of stepping in his direction. But when she is dead, he can gladly bury her carrion for all that she cares. The blood of the covenant is thicker than the womb of the water. She is her father’s daughter, after all, she is an Independent Woman.