Days in the History of Silence

Hello Gentle Reader

The other day in an e-mail I had gone on a tangent in regards to discussing, the argument in literature, of the concept of: profundity. What does the argument about profound, in relation to an authors work mean? I would never call “Fifty Shades of Grey,” profound. Even a Harlequin Romance, could express more depth and sincerity, then those books. Yet when it comes to serious literature, what does the term mean. The debate, of whether ones favourite authors work is profound; or exemplifies profundity – is the quickest and most liberally used argument. I ranted to the individual about my confusion of what the word profound engrossed when discussing literature. Does a writer need to write a five hundred page novel or more; and tackle large concepts like the meaning of life, true love, terrorism, conspiracies, alien abductions, political scandal – mixed with a heavy dose of irony and postmodernism, as well as a spoonful of hippie ideals of peace and love; and of course copious amount of weed references to ensure that the novel is both hip and cool. Then there is the six hundred plus page novel that begins as a historical novel or analysis of historical events. It eventually engrosses both past and present, and shifts its perspectives to showcase the consequences of the past, ripping through time, influencing and touching the lives of others in small ways – both positive and devastating. Then there are shorter novels. They’re views are more focused and concentrated. There is no globetrotting or an overabundance of characters; no conspiracy theories, no postmodern tricks or any references laced with drug innuendos. Their language varies from the intensely poetic and lyrical, to the more sober and straightforward. Their works are more refined and concentrated on a single subject. But does their sober language that verges on somber mean they are profound? Do their lyrical and poetic surrealism in prose, mean they are profound? The same goes with poets. A poet who writes with grace and simplicity about the everyday is far more preferred by me, then one who is archaic and pretentious in their verbose desire to showcase their own cleverness. Does gentle wisdom and sly wit; become more profound then intellectual pomposity? The truth is, the word profound is used profusely without any explanation or elucidation. It is exponentially used in arguments, to debase an author’s writings, or enhance an author’s reputation. In the end the term profound as an argument, is not an argument, but a quick remark that is slithers out of any contestation; because the word profound is vague when discussing literature. If profound means that one needs to write in a Joycean fashion, then to me profound authors are not writers to look forward to for reading. Their works are contrived, and often difficult to the point of unapproachable. Profound to me is akin to the writings of Wisława Szymborska: a distilling of life, laced with grace and earthly wisdom that is formed from experience; but is impish in its humour.

Merethe Lindstrøm’s novel “Days in the History of Silence,” is of novel of pleasurable reading length. The prose is reminiscent of the stereotypical concept of Norwegian weather. The language is sober, that transitions to somber with ease, and is sparse unsentimental language, helps give the book its weight and depth. The novel is built upon silence and what is not spoken. It is reserved, and quiet in its introspective contemplation, of how the past haunts, and how secrets keeps us close, but also distances and shuns the warmth of human contact and social interaction. Lindstrøm’s prose details the mundane monotony of her characters lives; but laces it with dread and suspense. As if beneath the thin ice over the lake of her characters lives, there is a threat of everything just cracking or breaking loose. It is, as if the quietness that Eva and Simon have built up to offer a sense of normalcy is continually threatened, and constantly on the brink of shattering. Throughout the novel Merethe Lindstrøm delves into the abyss of both characters lives; and from their personal experience showcases how silence and secrets are an act of fraternity with others in a solemn attempt to slowdown our own decent into the abyss of the past.

The novel is narrated by Eva, a retired school teacher who is married to a retired physician by the name of Simon. Their lives are on the surface comfortable and normal. They have raised three children – all girls; who have gone on to make set course for their own lives. Yet what holds Eva and Simon together are the acts of solidarity that stem from the solemn secrets in which both keep. The past for Eva and Simon is the connecting bond, that holds them together, and the secrets each of them keep, from their friends and even their daughters. It becomes clear in their old age, that Eva and Simon are showing signs of their own reserved pasts. There is guilt and grief, taking hold of both. Simon who may or may not be experiencing signs of Dementia; has become uncommunicative and withdrawn into himself. His silence engulfs the house. For Eva this becomes frustrating and difficult to comprehend. Her children advise her to put Simon into a home. Something Eva can neither, entertain or consider. Taking Simon to the day home itself, showcases the onslaught of time, and one’s own ambivalent relationship with the process of aging:

“Several times I have remained standing in the parking lot, like a mythological figure filled with doubt, this is the border between the underworld and our own world…I need to tell this to someone, how it feels, how it is so difficult to lie with someone who has suddenly become silent. It is not simply the feeling that he is no longer there. It is the feeling that you are not, either.”

Merethe Lindstrøm’s writes with cool precisions that details the quiet and uneventful lives of individuals. It continually understates the tense atmosphere of day to day living. The tensions brought on by Simon’s withdrawn behaviour; the urging of the daughters to put him in a home; as well as memories and recollections of past events, and the mystery of why the Latvian home help Marija. The memories of Eva and her own misdeeds, and rationalization behind them; as well as Simon’s own tragic history; and the eventual realized transgression of Marija that lead to her own dismissal – showcases the distance that comes from our own secrets, or hidden pasts, and our own inability to admit our grief and guilt. The lack of openness and communication in its actual structured sense, is shown to alienate people. As Eva comes to realize throughout the novel, Marija had become less an employee; and more of a helpful friend through her tenure in their lives and home. However in the end, its time had expired, and is looked back on with regret and the melancholic wistful nostalgia of one’s wish for it to be the way it was before.

From past to present the novel showcases the characters personal tragedies, crimes and incidents that have shaped them to what they have become. The past is a continually nuisance that tugs at ones arm. For Eva it is something to scour and contemplate and inspect, as if searching for the solution for the presents problems. For Simon it had become an engulfing sea that had slowly taken him in. Merethe Lindstrøm’s characters search the past, are haunted by it and are pursued by it. In the end however, none of them escape the past; it offers no solution, no answers. It has no conclusion within its pages. Pain, sadness, tragedy and our own guilt, transcends the confines of time. For Lindstrøm’s characters retribution cannot come in a swift swing of justice. Forgiveness is not offered from strangers. Justice, forgiveness, retribution – they can only be offered from ourselves first, before it can be available from others – and even that is not entirely plausible. Secrets, silence, the past – they are the abyss that threatens to swallow us whole. There are those who find a way into our intimate private lives. Trusted confidants who eventually learn of our hidden transgressions. From revealing our personal contraventions, we hope they accept us still for it; and from this act of recognition of our indiscretions and maintaining that friendship, we learn to offer this same mercy upon ourselves.

In the end, the novel is understated with prose that begins sober, and moves somber. It is filled with tensions, and unanswered questions that continually provoke reading, and a desire to move forward with the novel. The monotonous and mundane become anxious with apprehension of the unknown. Memories showcase how casual cruelty can be; how tragic circumstances become; and how the past echoes through and individual like a voice through rooms. It is not a novel of neat conclusions though. It is however a novel introspection and contemplation on the nature of silence and secrets as the acts solidarity that hold us together, and eventually drive us apart.

Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
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M. Mary