Gudenes Fall, by Cornelius Jakhelln.
2007, 428 pages.

Now, this might be a little weird. Gudenes Fall (The Fall of the Gods) is a book that most likely never will be translated into English, and yet, I choose to review it in English. But hey, my English is still worse than my Norwegian.

In the year 1000 AD, the Icelandic Allting confirmed Iceland’s conversion to Christianity. The Norse Gods, lead by Odin, recognised the signs of the times, and paid some Jotnir entrepeneurs to ship them down below the North Sea, and there dig out a new Aesgard. The Jotnir, as it happened, didn’t cherish the thought of staying above ground without their ancestoral enemies, so they dug out their own little realm. In the following centuries they’ve flourished as a civilization — to the extent that they can, their inate limitations taken into consideration — by scouring the seas for shipwrecks, which they’ve plundered, and then sold the contents of to the Aesir. The Aesir, in their neck of the caves, have kept themselves busy with gossip, emulation of humans, and petty scheming. All except Odin, the Father of All. He’s been sitting in Lidskjalv, observing humans and gods alike, drinking fine brandy, philosophising along with his Dwarven sidekick, Hornbore, and enjoying the odd orchestral work.

This has been working out great for him for a while but recently, he’s began wondering if 990 years is enough time to live underground, and perhaps he shouldn’t have given up without a proper fight? Besides, the Aesir are not only growing decadent in their caverns, more concerned with fashion and the weekly stand-up show in Valhall than anything else. They’re also increasingly restless, feeling that their leader has abandoned and betrayed them. Understandably, this makes Odin feel a bit nervous, too, so he sends Hornbore out on a journey to the world of men, to scout out the possibility a Return.

The book is roughly divided into three parts. (At least if I remember correctly; it’s been two months, and I don’t have the book here to check.) The first one mainly deals with life in the Third Aesgard (the first one was in Norway, the second in Iceland, apparently), and most of it is told in the first person perspective, by Odin. He tells us about his theories — he considers himself something of a philosopher, the vain old bastard –, about his relationship to the other Aesir, and a lot of other stuff. This first part was basically what I enjoyed the most about the book. Especially as Jakhelln, in between all the vanities of Odin, had stuck a chapter told from the point of view of Frigg, and one from Loki, which warped the way I looked at Odin’s own POVs. Of course, I never came around to Frigg’s hateful, bitter way of seeing her husband, or to Loki’s insane, yet thought provoking view on his captors, but they helped modify my view of Odin. Before some of these “interludes” he seemed like a really wise old man, with certain eccentricities, of course, but still, wisdom incarnated, so to say. After, he came across as so much more of a ridiculous figure; vain, feeble. But a lot of his theories still sounded, well, sound, so he wasn’t entirely ruined.

The second part told of Hornbore’s journey through Jotunheimen, to Iceland, and his experiences as a Robbie Williams impersonator in Reykjavik. The travelling was the best in this part; it reminded me a little of “Gulliver’s Travels”, especially as the society of the Jotnir was a emulation of human society, only twisted and corrupted — at least from a human point of view. The Robbie Williams bit also had its charm, but compared to what came before, it paled. Unfortunately.

Then there’s the thrid part. In this one Odin is forced to face an old and a new enemy, and all the book’s many conflicts come to an end. This part wasn’t entirely without its charms, either, but overall, I thought it was weak. Jakhelln had snailed his way through the early parts of the book — something I don’t hold against him, as I, to repeat myself, thought these were the best parts by far — and then rushes through the ending. The fact that this last part is also the one where Jakhelln’s occasionally infantile humour is most obvious, doesn’t help much. (But, to quote Jakhelln’s Odin, “Human humour is little else than pee, poo, and intersubjectivity phenomenology”.)

A really, really, really mitigating point, though, is the end. Gods, I loved it.

That’s pretty much the content. Let’s take a look at the form.

Perhaps the most distinct characteristic of this book, is the way it’s written. Jakhelln transcribes his dialect directly, most of the time, taking little notion of Norwegian grammar. This might seem deterring for some — I know it did for me — but it doesn’t really take long before you’re learned to recognise the word images of his transcriptions, and the way it’s written simply helps strengthen the feeling that this is Odin’s story — told by him, written down in a language he only knows how to speak, with letters he only knows the phonems, or at least allophones to. This impression is strengthened further by Frigg’s POV, which is written in flawless Norwegian, Loki’s, written in a completely chaotic Dano-Norwegian, and the narration of Hornbore’s quest, which is also written in flawless Norwegian.

Although I’ve spent much more of this review pointing out the bad sides of this book, than I usually do, I can’t honestly say it’s a bad one. The first part (which takes up about half of the book) alone is reason enough to devour this book, and the rest, while noticably weaker, is still entertaining and fascinating. The only thing I thought was outright bad, was the Olav Digre chapters, and even those had at least one mitigating point, namely the portrayal of King Harald.

So, if you think any of this sounded interesting, go pick it up. I think it ought to be avaliable just about anywhere (maybe short of convenience stores), as it won Gyldendal’s “great novel competition” just this spring. Quite understandably so, too.