Name: The Whispering Muse
Rating: 3 (10 reviews)
ISBN: 9781846591242

Sjón

"An extraordinary, powerful fable—a marvel."—Alberto Manguel The year is 1949 and Valdimar Haraldsson, an eccentric Icelander with elevated ideas about the influence of fish consumption on Nordic civilization, has had the singular good

The Whispering Muse

Victoria Cribb

Invited to sail on a Danish merchant ship in 1949, eccentric Icelander, Valdimar Haraldsson, discovers the second mate on the ship is none other than Caeneus, the hero of Greek mythology, who regales his fellow shipmates with tales of the Golden Fleece. 50,000 first printing.

A Novel

ikkychan

Anton Chekov, the renowned Russian short-story writer, has once remarked on the difficulties of writing a bored character without making the narrative boring, to keep the reader interested in reading uninteresting characters. It is certainly something tricky to achieve, as you have to skillfully offer a deep insight of the different layers of human nature whilst effortlessly weave it through a nuanced storytelling, so much so that the reader is able to perceive the character’s tediousness as humor — something that Sjón successfully pulled off in his novel “The Whispering Muse”. Valdimar Haraldsson, the bored character in question, is an arrogant, pedantic elderly European who has developed a peculiar and somewhat racially charged fascination with the connection between a fish-eating diet and the perceived superiority of the Nordic race. His reputation for prejudice is not improved by the fact that he previously worked for a German broadcasting service during the Second World War, which underscores his racist tendencies. At the start of the story, he was invited on a trip aboard a merchant vessel, MS Elizabeth Jung-Olsen, as it delivered paper pulp from Norway to Turkey and later Soviet Georgia. Right off the bat, the reader understands his disposition—his annoying pomposity—as he sees things through tinted glass and thinks nothing of lecturing others, being most convinced of his own importance. Contradictory with his preference of pescetarian belief, Haraldsson finds it challenging to adapt to life at sea. He expresses dissatisfaction with his accommodations, engages in a dispute with the sole woman on board—whom he refers to as "the purser's woman"—and, most notably, longs for his usual aquatic diet. Despite the crew's preference for beef or pork, Haraldsson persists in catching his own fish and insists that the ship's chef incorporate them into the menus, oblivious to everyone's frustration, which becomes a source of amusement for us on the reader's end. On board, he finds his intellectual suzerainty challenged by the popularity of the second mate, Caeneus, and notices that the passengers prefer Caeneus's tragic tale of the Argonauts over his comprehensive discourse on the connection between fish and humans. Caeneus, who religiously starts his storytelling by holding a piece of rotten wood to his ear, as if waiting to receive a prophetic calling, is inwardly ridiculed by Haraldsson as the old man finds the whole act too theatrical and contrived. It might be overly optimistic to expect a man of science like him to believe that Caeneus's tale of Jason, his crew, and their alleged conquest of the women of Lemnos during the forgotten era of ancient gods and curses truly happened. However, as days go by and more inexplicable events occur, Haraldsson finds himself reluctantly considering the possibility that something extraordinary may have indeed taken place. Every time I read something by Sjón, it's enthralling to witness how he intertwines common, everyday occurrences with mystical elements, transforming the ordinary into something foreign through the power of diction and vivid imagination. Each chapter transports us from the confines of a commonplace wooden ship cabin to a distant mythical realm filled with enticing royal banquets, gender-bending beings, and divine intervention. These intentionally contrasting elements attract each other like magnets, working in tandem, increasingly blurring the lines between the imagined and the real as the narrative progresses. Like Haraldsson, we too might find ourselves on the verge of believing in something seemingly outrageous and hence opted for a quick way out by the story's end. While the myth acts as the spine of the book, weaving each characters’ experiences within and without the ship, Sjón draws parallel from each story and masterfully positions them as reflections of one another. When the Lemnian poetess deliver the bloodied and maniacal tale of Gudrun Gjukadottir, as an example, the Argonauts didn’t have much choice but to 'drown their nausea’ due to the horror of the story with their wine and wondered ‘how could their womanly hearts take pleasure in such a sickening tale?’. It is almost ironic that several chapters later, the purser, in a drunken state, proudly recalls the time when he ‘had purchased his lady friend for the price of a leg of pork’ near the end of the war. How could his heart take pleasure in such a sickening tale? The sentiment is not improved by what Haraldsson has to say in response to the purser’s tale: “Four years had passed since the end of the great conflict but we still couldn’t believe that humanity had won.” Tell me, Valdimar, what exactly had been won here? Despite his character’s rather hasty claim of victory, the author actually dedicates the most part of the story for the harrowing tale of humanity’s defeat and despair. A woman is forced into sexual indenture, harbor workers are exploited and abused by their employers, and even Caeneus, mighty and immortal as he is, was a rape survivor who has to endured the loss of his lifelong friends and leader in isolation. Thus, how much progress has humanity truly made if there persists such pervasive pain within what is undeniably a humorous narrative? Haraldssons’ commentary further proves his ignorance, stemming from a place of privilege, which some might still find funny. However, even within a book that evokes laughter on every page, there remains a profound undercurrent of sorrow. At the end of the day, what I love the most about Sjón is how he presents the fate of his characters, each imbued with thought-provoking questions and possibilities that do not have clear or definitive answers. These unresolved questions linger in the reader's mind long after they close the last page, both interacting with and undermining any straightforward solutions that may arise, which is both as fantastical as it is real, just like his stories are.

Trevor Berrett

It’s all incredibly humorous, but when I’m reading a book like this, with such disparate threads, I am waiting for the moment they, in some way, come together, explain to me why they are part of the same book, add up to more than they are on their own. I didn’t get that here.

For my complete post, please visit my blog, The Mookse and the Gripes.

The year is 1949 and Valdimar Haraldsson, an eccentric Icelander with elevated ideas about the influence of fish consumption on Nordic civilisation, has had the singular good fortune to be invited to join a Danish merchant ship on its way to the Black Sea. Among the crew is the mythical hero Caeneus, disguised as the second mate. Every evening after dinner he entrances his fellow travellers with the tale of how he sailed with the fabled vessel the Argo on the Argonauts' quest to retrieve the Golden Fleece. A master storyteller, Sjón seamlessly blends seafaring yarns of the ancient world with the manners of the modern age.

John I. Clark

A bit tiresome. 

Not sure what to think of this book. Way too much storytelling by one of the characters, all loosely based on Jason & the Argonauts. Surprisingly racy, though in a very conservative fashion, if that makes sense. It doesn't put me in the mood to read more Sohn, that's for sure.

Lindsy Rice

Anne Boissonnault

Paul Meskers

"Sublime . . . A work of coy humor and shape-shifting magic ." --The Wall Street Journal Sjón's novels have been championed by a veritable pantheon of literary luminaries: Junot Díaz, David Mitchell, A. S. Byatt, Hari Kunzru, and Alberto Manguel, who calls The Whispering Muse "an extraordinary, powerful fable--a marvel." The Whispering Muse is Sjón's masterpiece so far. The year is 1949 and Valdimar Haraldsson, an eccentric Icelander with elevated ideas about the influence of fish consumption on Nordic civilization, has had the extraordinary good fortune to be invited to join a Danish merchant ship on its way to the Black Sea. Among the crew is the mythical hero Caeneus, disguised as the second mate. Every evening after dinner he entrances his fellow travelers with the tale of how he sailed with the fabled vessel the Argo on the Argonauts' quest to retrieve the Golden Fleece. What unfolds is a slender, brilliant, always entertaining novel that evokes Borges and Calvino as it weaves together tales of myth and antiquity with the modern world in a literary voice so singular as to seem possessed.

The Whispering Muse

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