I picked up this book because I wanted something atmospheric. When daylight savings hits and I stop experiencing sunlight I get into these funks and all I want is deep base and prose the blurs the line between poetry and description, and narratives that aren’t but could be. I found this book on a list of books similar to Annihilation, so if you liked the atmosphere woven through that story, and want something with even less coherent narrative, this is it. You’ve found that weird book.
Jo is a Norwegian university student studying in a seaside English city. She doesn’t know anyone, and it seems to be sometime in the late nineties because she still uses phone books, maps and bulletin boards to find her way around. She’s studying biology and stumbles upon a roommate, Carral, who lives in a converted old brewery and slowly descends into a fungal malaise.
Jo’s new surroundings are strange and unsettling. I can remember studying abroad too, and being utterly intrigued by the little things that were different and strange. Different mould in my sinks and tubs. The schleppy buildings I occupied, strange rooms in homes that were loud and unfamiliar, cities that never made an impression on me but that I remember nonetheless for the virtue of their foreignness. Jo experiences a heightened version of this sort of nostalgic vertigo, all eloquently described by Hval, a Norwegian poet, musician and novelist. Her music, it turns out, is worth checking out too, and she does sing in English (the book is a translation but I’d imagine she collaborated somewhat on the text).
It’s a quick read, a tight novella that gets in the cracks and grows and leaves you unsettled and wanting more.