The Greenhouse [Paperback]

This book is the tale of an immature young Icelandic man who goes on a journey of more than a thousand miles to southern Europe to restore the rose garden of an ancient monastery. It is a glowing book, the story of a pilgrimage, the story of how this innocently selfish young man becomes a father in more than the biological sense of the word. It is a beautiful book, a rare gem. Its descriptions of Icelandic life and scenery are unusual and fascinating, with the single flower struggling to bloom on the lava flow, and his conversations with the eccentric film-loving monk, and our hero's attempts at cooking, are amusing. On the surface it is a simple tale, but look deeper: there is a lot of Christian imagery. Don't take it at face value, think. The Rosa Candida, the eight petalled true rose, is surely a metaphor for the Virgin Mary, and is the rose garden a metaphor for the Garden of Eden? It is easy to read, and a real page-turner, but don't just rush through it and go on to something else. This book deserves thought and discussion. It is a deeply affecting work of pure brilliance, and I thoroughly recommend it. Read it.

Now that it's finally available in English, beautifully translated by Brian FitzGibbon, I got the chance to read The Greenhouse. It's a truly remarkable novel, and its widespread acclaim as the 2010 book of the year was well-deserved.

On the surface it is a first-person narrative that tells the coming of age story of Arnljótur (or "Lobbi"), a 22 year old from Iceland who goes on a journey to find himself. He is a thoughtful boy who studies in the family greenhouse "to be able to read close to the plants" and who thinks about what it might mean to "spend one's entire childhood waiting for a single tree to grow".

His journey takes him from Iceland, which he sees as dominated by moss, tussocks and swamps, to a cliff-top monastery in an intentionally unnamed country that provides a stark contrast to his homeland. We hear him think through his bodily longings, what it means to be a man, fatherhood, faith, death, and our connections with the planet and the plants around us. And beneath all of this there is the question of how we relate to people, and how those relationships make us whole. There is the ever-present memory of Arnljótur's mother and the unforgettable final conversation that he had with her, as well as his evolving closeness to his daughter, Flóra Sól.

Olafsdottir makes liberal use of symbolism, and most significantly there is the precious Rosa Candida, the violet-red, thorn-less, eight-petaled rose.

Richness also comes from Olafsdottir's beautifully drawn minor characters. She captures monastic life wonderfully; in the absence of sustained contact with a broader community the small details of daily routines and of relationships mean so much to the monks. The villagers also are simple yet colorful. And there is Arnljótur's father, about whom you learn a lot from this one line: "When he's finished asking me about the weather and the traffic conditions on the roads, he tells me that seven depressions have crossed the country in about as many days."

Finally, there is Father Thomas. If you're a fan of Indie and Art House films then you might enjoy this list of mentioned movies:
1. Cesar & Rosalie
2. Nostalghia
3. Trois Couleurs: Bleu
4. The Seventh Seal
5. Eat Drink Man Woman
6. Chocolat
7. Babette's Feast
8. Like Water For Chocolate
9. Chungking Express
10. In the Mood for Love
11. Je vous salue (Hail Mary)

He Also mentions Michelangelo Antonioni and Jean-Luc Godard.

His recommendations range from the bizarre (the movie with Yves Montana and Romy Schneider is César & Rosalie) to the more expected (Trois Couleurs: Bleu, in which the heroine, like Arnljótur, witnesses a horrific car accident, obsesses about death, and goes on a journey of self-discovery).

Arnljótur emerges as an everyman with whom we can identify, and I hope that we will see more from Audur Ava Olafsdottir.

What a wonderful introduction to this author! Narrated by "Lobbi" as he is affectionately called by his father, this is the story of a young man's search for himself and for meaning in life. After a tragic loss, Lobbi becomes fixated on the body and on death. He follows his passion for gardening to tend to a famous, but now neglected and overrun, rose garden at an unnamed monastery somewhere in Europe. Lobbi leaves behind, in Iceland, his infant daughter Flora Sol, the product of a one-night stand. When the mother of his child brings her to him, he is suddenly faced with the life-changing consequences of his one night of carelessness, and must discover what it means to become a father.

The translation of the novel is very well done. The writing is luminous and captivating and several themes are explored: the meaning of life, death, coincidence vs. fate. There is rich symbolism. This is a novel that one can get lost in; it is not terribly plot focused and it's really more about the journey than the destination. Reading it was sort of like taking a train ride through beautiful country-- with each page you could just savor the moment and the lovely writing. Lobbi's character is quite compelling, human and believable. As another reviewer noted, the story is somewhat slow at first, but as his character develops and deepens, you'll be rewarded for sticking with the story. The growing bond of this reluctant young father with his child is tenderly portrayed. This was a thoughtful and touching story well-deserving of the praise it has received.

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