This book is 74 pages long and I received it as a gift on New Year's Eve and it took me 71 days to read.
I should have finished it sooner. I took it with me to Spain, and I spent most of that time reading The Shards, not this. I feel guilty about this, and so the only thing I can do is explain myself. I try to pride myself on having wide-ranging tastes, and being open-minded towards more experimental literature, but in reality, my imagination is rather limited. I tend to be self-obsessed and look for personal connections in art to elevate (or justify) my own experience as a human being in this world. I would like to try to understand others better so that I can be more compassionate towards their sensitivities and struggles, but I also have my own, and they are not often considered "worthy" of transmogrification in art. Here, that struggle may be "grief," or perhaps death itself, which is something that all of us share, and so this should mean something to us all--but the method of communication has to fit the message. Unless there really isn't one.
This is a really strange little book. It bears something of a resemblance to the final section of Ulysses. It has no punctuation, save for question marks (and more limited exclamation points--but see below). New sentences are denoted by capitalization, but these are generally lines of dialogue, and beyond that, only proper nouns are capitalized. So there are no sentences, really. Someone compares it Waiting for Godot in a praise blurb on the back (technically, "The Beckett of the twenty-first century" - Le Monde) and that is a fair estimation of its plot. Except instead of Godot, Signe (?) is waiting for Asle to return.
I thought it was Aliss that was waiting for Asle to return but looking back at the first page it does appear the protagonist of this novella is Signe, the woman, who is looking out the window of her home on some Thursday in 2002, thinking back to a date in 1979 when her husband went out to the fjord near their home in a flimsy rowboat. He never returned (I think) and so she continues to wait, 23 years later.
The book might have been a little more interesting if she had taken edibles or acid or mushrooms or something, because it does become "trippy." It essentially consists of an extended hallucination where the woman (I will call her that because the book mostly just says "she") looks through the window and see various things, generally closer to the shore, that appear to be distant events from the past. (If you don't mind, I'm going to read the wikipedia page now, because sometimes we need cliffs notes to confirm uncertain understanding.)
Before that, though, the translator's note does offer some clues, and may "sell" the book better than this review:
"The Norweigan title of this novel is Det er Ales, which means 'That's Ales' or 'It's Ales'; the woman's name in the original is Ales, not Aliss. Unfortunately, this Norweigan name coincides with the English word for a type of beer, and would certainly be interpreted that way in a title without other context: It's Ales would come across as a very different book than the one Fosse wrote. Since publishing this book in 2004, Fosse has written a Trilogy and Septology with multiple characters named Asle and Ales, so the decision might have been different now, but a dozen years ago I decided I needed to change Ales's name and the book's title. This second edition follows the first English translation, published in 2010, but readers should know that Aliss is another one of Fosse's characters named Ales." ([77])
Not much more helpful, though the 2nd paragraph of the note may be more illuminating:
"Back then I emailed Fosse to ask what the name Ales meant to him and what he wanted the title to convey. I had noticed that the book's first burst of short sentences, after forty or so pages flowing by without a full stop, included the sentence 'Det er Ales,' so the title should refer to that moment in the book, but what else? Fosse told me that Ales was a very old-fashioned name, 'maybe your grandmother might have known an old woman names Ales'. He himself had a great-great-grandmother named Ales who was known as a 'wise woman', a healer. She really did heal people, and the sick came to see her from far and wide; at one point she was called in to see a local priest, to talk about her 'practice', but there was no punishment. About the title, Fosse said: 'It means Ales is spreading out over the whole universe.'" ([77])
So it appears there are actual sentences. Let me try to find them:
I'm super proud of myself now:
".....and she takes the stick over to the fire and she puts the stick with the sheep head on it into the flames and while the boy dangles in her arm she moves the sheep head back and forth in the flames, and then its wool catches fire and blazes up and then a burnt smell goes up, burning, and then she dips the sheep head in the water of the fjord before she puts it back into the flames, and again that burnt smell, and then she moves the sheep head back and forth, back and forth in the flames. That's Aliss, he thinks, and he sees it, he knows it. That's Aliss at the fire. That is Aliss, he thinks, his great-great-grandmother, he is sure of it. It's Aliss, he was named after her, or rather after her grandson Asle, the one who died when he was seven, the one who drowned, he drowned in the bay, his Grandpa Olaf's brother, his namesake. But that is Aliss, in her early twenties, he thinks. And the boy, about two years old, that's Kristoffer, his great-grandfather, the one who would later be Grandpa Olaf's father and also the father of the Asle he was named after, his namesake, the one who drowned when he was just seven years old, he thinks and he sees Kristoffer start to cry dangling there in Aliss's arm and she puts down the stick with the sheep head on it and then she sets Kristoffer down on the shore and he stands up and stands there unsteady on his little legs, and then Kristoffer takes one careful step, and he stands, and then he takes another step, and then he falls on his side and shrieks and Aliss says no, why do you have to try to stand up, can't you just sit quiet, Aliss says, and she puts down the stick and she picks up Kristoffer and holds him tight to her chest
You good little boy, you're a good little boy, Aliss says
Don't cry now, don't cry anymore, that's a good boy, she says
and Kristoffer stops crying, gives a little sob, and then he's happy again and Aliss puts him down on the same stone as before and she picks up the stick with the sheep head again and starts to burn it, moves it back and forth in the flames. And again Kristoffer stands up. And again he takes a careful step forward. And then another. And Aliss stands there, moving the stick with the sheep head on it back and forth in the flames. That is Aliss." (33-34)
Actually, the sentences continue onto page 35, but end there. I excerpt something so long to provide a flavor of the text and perhaps you can see why it was difficult for me to summon the will to ensconce myself within it.
The wikipedia page is not much help because it does not exist, but there is one for Jon Fosse, which notes that he suffered a serious accident at age 7 that brought him close to death and significantly influenced his later writing.
And so perhaps Aliss at the Fire is a puzzle one has to solve: it must be semi-autobiographical in some form or shade, Asle (the great-grand-uncle) died at age 7, I think, and Aliss is portrayed as something of a healer, in the vision that Signe/Asle has.
Yes, the book shifts perspectives between Signe and Asle at a certain point, and then there is later Brita (who I think is ancestor-Asle's mother, or current-Asle's great-great-grand-aunt), who gives a boat to Asle for his 7th birthday (Kristoffer, Asle's older brother, is apparently there too).
To say this book is enormously difficult and confusing is an understatement. It is extremely boring, to a ridiculous degree.
I said some of these things to my friend that gave it to me as a gift, and he told me that Fosse's masterpiece is 700 pages long and very similar in style and tone to this, and opens up with an image of a person watching paint dry, presumably drawn out over several hundred pages. So this all feels intentional but something of a cruel joke on readers.
Yet this is High Art, and does tend to lend credence to a fractural and mystical reality. Asle may have drowned too, like his great-grand-uncle, but he has also lived in the same house that his ancestors lived in, and so this may be considered a ghost story. It also bears a certain resemblance to a short story that I wrote a five paragraph essay on in high school called "Yellow Wallpaper." I got a C- on that paper. That story is about the frayed mental health of a subjugated woman; this story is not necessarily about madness, but a vision, seeing things that aren't there, or might be there, and the reality of things we experience when we are alone, in a house, we hear certain noises and see certain flashes of things and our experience is the only reality of them, as no other person is there to witness them or confirm that reality--it may just be in our minds.
So perhaps Aliss at the Fire is a success, because it made me think all of these things, and I do think its "message" (if it has one) may be profound. Yet on the metric of 'le plaisir du texte,' it did not provide an enjoyable experience. Perhaps neither does grief, or dying, but still, this is not a cogent meditation, this is an experiment in language and form, and the translation lends it a further air of mystery. Yet perhaps it is all too real, if one lives alone in a house in Norway, looking out at a fjord, waiting for a missing person while the hope of their return is all but lost.
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