North of the Sun, South of the Moon: New Voices From Norway

By Oslo Writers' League

When the Oslo International Writers’ Group (OIWG) formed in early 2012, the initial aim was camaraderie: to create a network of writers who could share and critique work, discuss writing as only writers can, and support one another in what can often be a rather lonely pursuit. Soon it became evident that the talent and ambition of this set of writers warranted a project, some kind of collective effort to showcase our work to the outside world. Pulling these short stories, essays, and poems together under a single flag was no simple task. It took more than a desire to help ourselves, or even to help each other. When someone suggested donating the profits to a charity, momentum truly began to build. Utdanningshjelpen is a Norwegian-based charity which fosters education and literacy in Kenya, Ethiopia, Ghana and Mozambique.

In this anthology, we have included stories of life’s light—personal transformation, friendship, and love—as well as stories of life’s darkness—political persecution, kidnapping, and death. The members of the OIWG hope that you find this collection to be a thought-provoking and deeply moving reading experience. And remember, just as we who live in Norway must, that even when the winter feels long, the summer sun will rise again and hang there in the sky, defiant and dazzling, as long as it possibly can.

All profits from sales of this book go to Utdanningshjelpen.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Grimbold Books
• Release date: Aug 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781909845329

Book preview

North of the Sun, South of the Moon

New Voices from Norway

The Oslo International Writers’ Group

Edited by Zoë Harris

www.hhousebooks.com

North of the Sun, South of the Moon

Copyright © 2013 Holland House

Smashwords Edition

The authors of these works assert their moral right to be identified as the authors of this book

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Turn, Turn, Turn Copyright © 2013 Anna Maria Moore

Go North, Young Man first published as How to Get to Norway in Approximately Six Not-So-Easy Steps in Summer Shorts Copyright © 2013 Brian M. Talgo

Christmas Copyright © 2013 Bree Switzer

Forgive Me, Mexico Copyright © 2013 Mauricio Ruiz

Frost Copyright © 2013 Evelinn Enoksen

Blank Copyright © 2013 Chelsea Ranger

Far North, True North Copyright © 2013 Zoë Harris

Orientation Copyright © 2013 Audrey Camp

Killer Copyright © 2013 Evelinn Enoksen

Dinosaur Copyright © 2013 Brian M. Talgo

Tolerance Copyright © 2013 Chelsea Ranger

The Social Animal Copyright © 2013 Zoë Harris

Estrellita Copyright © 2013 Mauricio Ruiz

Maggie’s Farm Copyright © 2013 Bree Switzer

ISBN 978-1-909374-55-3

Cover art by Brian M. Talgo

Cover design by Ken Dawson

Illustrations by Evelinn Enoksen

Holland House Books

Holland House

47 Greenham Road

Newbury

Berkshire

RG14 7HY

United Kingdom

www.hhousebooks.com

Acknowledgements

This anthology would not have been possible without the assistance of the following people:

The authors, obviously, but for more than simply contributing pieces – they have been such a wonderful support for one another; this has served to strengthen both the quality of the book, and the friendships within the group. Also, we would like to thank Robert Peett and Sammy Smith of Holland House for their work with the authors, faith in the project, and for their overall support.

Special thanks to Brian Talgo and Ken Dawson for the wonderful cover art and design, and to Evelinn Enoksen for creating unique illustrations inspired by the stories in the book.

A special mention must go to Michele Bolin for hosting so many of the OIWG meetings in her home, and for making sure no one’s stomach ever rumbles during a reading.

Chelsea Ranger, utilizing her expert event management skills, brought on board Anthony and Nicole from Café Fedora and Marianne from Bryllups Invitasjoner, making it possible for us to launch this anthology in style. All have contributed time, funds and their services to the project, for which we are eternally grateful.

Thanks also to Felix, and everyone at Utdanningshjelpen, for supporting our growth as writers as we work together to raise money for an important cause.

And, finally, thanks to you for purchasing this book and supporting Utdanningshjelpen as well as Oslo’s newest literary voices.

Introduction

Audrey Camp & Zoë Harris

At sixty-six degrees north, there is an invisible line drawn around the globe. The line passes through only eight countries: Iceland, Greenland, Canada, the United States (Alaska), Russia, Finland, Sweden, and Norway. This is the Arctic Circle, a perforation between the Land of the Midnight Sun and everything below it, places where the sun will always set, at least for a breath. Such is the mysticism of the Far North. Polar bears lumber across the icescapes of Svalbard under endless daylight from April to August. More populated areas above the Arctic Circle also enjoy these white nights, where a girl with a book can read the fine print from dusk to dawn without ever flipping a light switch.

It is an exotic concept. But, as always, there’s a dark side.

The Land of the Midnight Sun cannot escape the inevitable Noon Moon. Twenty-four hours of daylight in the summertime; twenty-four hours of darkness in the wintertime. To cope, residents of Norway put up black-out curtains just to fall asleep in July. In January, light box therapy helps some fend off Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). We know two seasons: summer and winter; celebration and survival. These are things to which only people who have lived in-country year-round can attest, an invisible line which binds us together.

When the Oslo International Writers’ Group (OIWG) formed in early 2012, the initial aim was camaraderie: to create a network of writers who could share and critique work, discuss writing as only writers can, and support one another in what can often be a rather lonely pursuit. Soon it became evident that the talent and ambition of this set of writers warranted a project, some kind of collective effort to showcase our work to the outside world.

We began with two themes familiar to every author in the collection: North and Adaptation. The writers worked with no other instruction than to interpret the themes as they wished, and let their own uniqueness shine through. We decided simply to write what we each love to write. Thus, the pieces in this anthology are as diverse in style and genre as the authors are in ethnicity.

The OIWG is made up mostly of expatriates—the eight authors in this anthology hail from Norway, the United States, Canada, Mexico, and Australia—so, some of the pieces in both sections reckon with the daring, delicate dance that is expatriation.

In Go North, Young Man Brian Talgo reveals the serendipitous trail of true events that led him to Norway from the United States, and in Orientation, Audrey Camp overcomes the disorienting effects of her first two weeks in Oslo by mapping out the new city she calls home. We find the same impetus in Zoë Harris’s short story Far North, True North, a presentation of two contrasting definitions of north for someone born far south of the equator.

But the stories inspired by the Adaptation theme explore far more than the literal adaption of newcomers to a country. They contemplate the human ability to adapt to changing physical, emotional and psychological environments, and what happens to those who don’t.

In Tolerance, Chelsea Ranger tells the true story of Lizhong Frank Li, a Chinese refugee to Norway who was imprisoned for his beliefs and tortured by his own government. Mauricio Ruiz gives us Estrellita, a short story about a desperate woman who takes advantage of the Norwegian custom of leaving babies to sleep unattended in their strollers outside cafés. Adaptation is a complex, sometimes cruel process, so we decided to end on an uplifting note with Bree Switzer’s short story Maggie’s Farm, about a woman finding a way to let go of her pain.

Pieces which appear in the first section of the anthology, inspired by the theme North, also go deeper than the mere cardinal direction. We begin with a nod to the rich history of Scandinavia in Turn, Turn, Turn, Anna Maria Moore’s short story inspired by her mother’s childhood in post-WWII Sweden. Going back in time a bit further, Evelinn Enoksen gives a chilling account of a band of Vikings making their way home after a battle that has almost wiped them out in Frost.

Pulling these short stories, essays, and poems together under a single flag was no simple task. It took more than a desire to help ourselves, or even to help each other. When someone suggested donating the profits to a charity, momentum truly began to build.

Utdanningshjelpen is a Norwegian-based charity which fosters education and literacy in Kenya, Ethiopia, Ghana and Mozambique. The organization’s founder, Felix Osok, writes:

We are humbled by the generosity of the Oslo International Writers’ Group, and its commitment to helping the beneficiaries of Utdanningshjelpen scholarship grants. These students will receive an education at both the secondary and higher education level, and hence be in a position to fully utilize their potential. This will, in turn, enable them to give back to the respective societies from which they emerged, and make them the new voices in those societies, to echo the title and content of the group’s anthology.

In enhancing the right to free basic education as detailed in the United Nations’ Human Rights Convention, article 26, we welcome the Oslo International Writers’ Group as a collaborating partner with Utdanningshjelpen, and look forward to strengthening our ties in enhancing this noble cause.

In this anthology, we have included stories of life’s light—personal transformation, friendship, and love—as well as stories of life’s darkness—political persecution, kidnapping, and death. The members of the OIWG hope that you find this collection to be a thought-provoking and deeply moving reading experience. And remember, just as we who live in Norway must, that even when the winter feels long, the summer sun will rise again and hang there in the sky, defiant and dazzling, as long as it possibly can.

North

Turn, Turn, Turn

Anna Maria Moore

USA/Sweden

Fiction

To Everything there is a season and a time to every purpose, under Heaven

- The Bible, book of Ecclesiastes

Winter

In November of 1946, two months after she turned five, Birgitta was already looking forward to Christmas. On this particular afternoon, she and her mamma stood side by side in the kitchen, their hands white with flour. Birgitta knelt on a chair to reach the counter, which was covered in dough. Her blonde ringlets fell into her eyes and she smiled as she listened to the conversation between her mamma and Tante Berta. She didn’t understand much but heard them toss around the words Amerikaner and President Truman. They seemed to be talking about a far off place.

Birgitta and her family lived in a small village in northern Sweden, not far from the Arctic Circle. War had reached their doorstep, but never set foot inside their lives. The war they knew arrived in the form of stories heard on the radio or read in the local newspaper. After the latest newspaper was absorbed, digested and discussed, it was tossed into the fireplace and quickly forgotten in the face of more urgent matters, like tending to the work and the laborers at the sawmill and the farm. Since the war ended, business was booming for her pappa’s sawmill, as Europe began to rebuild.

Birgitta had no memory of what life had been like before the Nazis invaded Finland and Norway, to the east and west. The only changes she noticed were the appearance of Finnish refugees, and the reduced worry in the faces and voices of her family. They no longer feared that the planes passing overhead were Russians, ready to invade. Mamma always kept a hot pot of coffee on the stove for unexpected visitors, including the dirty people who came by speaking that strange language. Mamma said they were escaping the bad people and that everyone should help them however they could.

Today was unique because Birgitta’s mamma had brought home cinnamon and extra sugar with the ration card Tante Berta had given her for them to bake cinnamon buns. The heat from the wood stove and the smell of cinnamon had beckoned Tante Berta and Birgitta’s two older brothers to the kitchen. Her brothers sat and discussed what had happened at school that week while they waited for the first batch of fresh hot buns to come out of the oven. Birgitta felt important as she kneaded the dough on the countertop, dressed in an apron matching her mamma’s.

Now pencil the butter over the whole surface of the dough, and then sprinkle some cinnamon on top. Let me watch you do it, instructed Mamma, her delicate smile revealing her teeth.

A spicy aroma wafted into her nose as she sprinkled the ground cinnamon, being careful to cover everything evenly. She wanted to make Mamma proud. She felt her mouth filling with saliva and her anticipation grew, revealed by a low grumble from her stomach. She felt special today. Her mother rarely had time for her with all the farm work she had to get done, especially when her pappa was out in the forest or at the mill. Working with timber took much longer than usual in the winter. Temperatures dropped to minus twenty-five degrees centigrade and everything, animate and inanimate, slowed down. Sometimes even the engines of the tractors came to a halt.

Birgitta’s kneading paused as she heard a sudden thud on the porch. The door flew open and her older sister, Astrid, rounded the corner into the kitchen looking pale, even under her pink, icy cheeks, her dark hair messy from running.

She stopped and bent her tall frame, panting. There’s . . . been . . . an accident, she stammered. In the forest . . . Uncle Erik has been hurt . . . Per’s got him in the sled. They need to get to the infirmary.

Before Birgitta could react, Mamma threw off her apron and ran with Astrid out into the hall. She snatched up her coat, stepped into her boots and threw open the door to the dusky winterland beyond. Birgitta sucked in her breath as the cold struck her bare arms, but her curiosity pushed her forward to the open door. Just then, Astrid shut it in her face as she headed out after Mamma.

Birgitta rummaged for her outerwear and her boots, grabbing what she could find as her brothers searched for their own things around her. Not wanting to miss anything, she crammed her feet into her boots, ignoring the laces, wrapped a scarf around her head, and shoved her arms into her coat sleeves. Without bothering to fasten the buttons, she jerked open the door and chased after her sister into the gray half-light, illuminated only by the snow.

She stopped short when she saw the sleigh, led by her favorite horse, Nelly. Her cousin Per held the reins as he climbed down from the seat. His usually smiling face was grim.

It’s not good, Per said. Uncle Erik’s lost a lot of blood but the tourniquet seems to have staunched the flow. I need to get him to the doctor now. Is Pappa here? We need to take the car. Per had his cap and his woolen work jacket on, but his strong, ruddy hands were bare. He never seemed to notice the cold. Birgitta admired Per, and loved spending time with him although he was thirteen years older than she. He had lost both his mother and father due to illness, and had become part of the family since then. He was like a brother to her.

What happened? Birgitta heard Mamma ask as she approached the sled. Birgitta stared at the silent shape of her uncle, laid across the floor of the sled on a bed of sheepskins, and a tingle crept up her spine.

He was chopping a pine and his axe hit a knot, bounced and planted itself into his leg. Now Birgitta noticed the long axe handle lying dark on the sled floor next to its victim.

Pappa isn’t here. You will have to take him yourself, but you can borrow the car. Girls, go inside and get some wool blankets and fill a bottle with water and bring it out. And grab a cup of coffee for Per. He can drink it while we ready the car. And boys, go find your pappa at the mill and tell him his brother has had a serious accident, Mamma ordered while she stroked Uncle Erik’s forehead. She bent over his supine form and leaned in to whisper in his ear. His frozen whiskers moved as he mumbled something back.

Hurry up, Birgitta! Mamma said as she whipped her head around, her loose bun coming undone.

Birgitta turned and ran inside.

When she had finished filling the bottle and cup, she brought them out, treading carefully so as not to spill the coffee. She focused on the snow beneath her feet, and how the sound it made reminded her of Nelly biting into a carrot. As she neared the sled, she noticed the white snow was stained dark underneath. Uncle Erik’s blood was soaking through the planks. She had never seen human blood before, but it made her think of the pig they had slaughtered in the fall. She shivered and the coffee splattered dark circles onto the snow.

Spring

In May of 1947, Birgitta came down with a high fever and a kidney infection. The doctor said she’d gotten sick from sitting on a cold rock, put her on penicillin and sent her to bed for four weeks. It was spring, a time of hope and resurrection. After a long, dark winter cooped up in the barn, the animals were let outside and their energy was boundless. She loved to watch the lambs prancing and the newborn calves and foals learning to walk on lanky, uncoordinated legs. Bedridden, Birgitta was missing her favorite time of the year.

She lay there bored, day after day, with little company but the occasional voice wafting in from the kitchen. Her siblings were at school and her parents were out working on the farm or at the mill, but the household help would stop by to talk to her and bring her food. It was only in the evenings that the house came alive again. She even welcomed her brothers’ teasing, which broke the monotony.

Early one Saturday morning, as she lay in bed listening to the chatter of birds in the birch tree outside her window, she was startled by the bang of the front door as it was thrown open. The sound of Astrid’s voice, so high in pitch Birgitta could hardly make out the words, froze her blood.

It’s dead! I don’t know how it happened! It hung itself!

Birgitta felt goose bumps rise along her arms. She pulled herself out of bed and moved slowly to the door to listen.

How could you let this happen, Astrid? Mamma’s tense voice carried up the stairs to the landing, where Birgitta had stopped to rest. Her heart pounded. She held her breath. She had never heard Mamma this angry. "You are put in charge of