Evening star., 1936-05-02
By Mary.Carfer Roberts.

Translated from the Danish by
F.. H. Lyon. Boston: Houghton
Mifflin Co.
IT MAY be of course that time
will make the enthusiasm pail,
but at present this book seems
4 to the reviewer about the first
novel capable of standing alone on
its own legs since H. L. Davis gor-
geouS Honey in the Horn" - and
that came out almost a year ago.
1t is not-Heaven be praised-another
of the feeble little generation of type
novels which so wear down the worth
of adjecttves, in that they do have
to be commended for neatness, bright
ness and good proof reading. 1t most
emphatically is not 1t bursts great,
violent, disorderly hole in that circum-
scribing ring of cozy conventions to
which reviewers have been become
so Injured, and goes its own way in
strength and inspiration. One cannot
better describe its authors manner
than to quote from him, as he COM
ments on the gait of an Icelandic
sailor who did not seem to care in
the least where he stepped, but simply
butted, Waddled, waded forward, ap-
parently not dreaming of the posi-
bility of doing anything gently"
Halldor LaXneSS writes like that,
happily adding to his gift for heart
ening violence wise and constant
genius. The result is what might be
expected. One feels that one Will
have to go to Iceland soon. They
write great books up there.
The story is that of a life, life
which rose for while above its
surrounding levels, dreamed unreal
dreams and then fell back to actual
ities-because there was nothing else
for it to do. 1t is the life of the
heroine, Salka Valka, who gives the
work it's name. In portraying her the
author has done that thing which
only genius can truly do, despite the
fact that the formula has been we'll
memoriZed by the neat and clever;
he has made an individual who lives
and is authentic in herself and who
also mirrors for the rest of us our
human universality. From these OBJ
servations it should be clear that this
authors disregard of conventlonalltleS
has not led him into eccentricities,
those cheap tricks under which too
many current novelistS try to hide
lack of stuff within themselves. No,
the pattern of the book and the pat
tern of the heroine are both old. They
are in the tradition which has en-
dured, from Homer to the present.
The departure from conventionality
lies rather in the authors own soul,
in his abourding awareness of life, in
the constant evidence of his own in
telligent vitality. He takes his heroine
from her eleventh year into her early
twentieS, showing her existence
against the background of an Ice
landic fishing village, inconceivably
poor and sordid. She is the illegit-
innate child of a forlorn wandering
prostitute. An intrinsic integrity with
in her makes her reject the degraded
life of the village women, of what
ever degree and she declares early
in the book that she is mot woman"
She seeks a job and works as man
until she becomes part owner of a
fishing boat-a state which seems
to represent comparative affluence.
She lives alone and dresses like a
man. She is thrifty and saves her
money. She reads, too, and educates
herself in so far as she can. Her
lot would seem to be fairly salts
factory until communism is imported
into the village and she falls in love
with the young organizer.
He, unhappily, represents to her
the thing which she never had
found-a seemingly intelligent and
decent plan for living. He is, how
ever. as it turns out, only tool of his
party hackers who recognize his weak
ness and drop him when he ceases
to be serviceable for their needs. The
revolution" which takes place in the
village does, it is true, dethrone the
old capitalist who has so profited
by the labor of the poor, but in turn
1t sets up "comrade" who proceeds
although less humanely, under ex-
actly the same system, only using
a different set of names. Salka sees,
with he incorruptible commonsense,
that she has bet on the wind. She
gives her lover her money, so that
he may follow a rich American lady
to California and goes back to her
nets. Love is past for her, as is
her dream of 'idealism." And that
the story.
How commonplace it could be in
the hands of commonplace writer
But this man Laxness is not COM
monplace. He makes of his wretched
village all the world. He makes of its
struggles all struggles. He puts into
Salka all the unhappy yearnings of
those who are not without the power
to desire dreams and still not without
the sense to measure reality. She be-
comes not the broken idealist but the
broken realist. The plight of the
latter is infinitely the more tragic.
OF this idealism the author says
perceptively that it is the weak mans
brand of nobility-who knows where
lies the dividing line between it and
his hatred of the strong? Perhaps
only ne who feels himself to be the
weakest man in place can cherish
the highest idealism in his breast.
There are no limits to the divine
revelations a man can receive from
another world if only he is pennileSs
and miserable enough And there are
no limits to the injustice one can
perceive under the sun If one has
met with little understanding in ones
youth; then the dream of bliss to
come is like tuberculosis, it breaks
out in various forms until one dies
1t is grand book. 1t probably will
not make the best selling lists. 1t will
certainly not please that febrile school
of current criticism which yammers
for bigger and better "proletarian
novels" But it ought to stand long
after that school and several sue
ceeding ones have gone into the library
files. 1t can be ranked, for example.
S,-;+l, Tolaarr Daior'c