Culture

I am a wide reader, and will read just about anything; I have even been known to read the phone book in those moments of bibliographic desperation. Hannah Kent’s debut novel Burial Rites, however, finally stumped me. I have had no motivation to read this book. Zip. Nada. Zilcharooney. On paper Burial Rites should have become a new favourite: it’s historical fiction, it is set in Iceland, it has weird names that any linguist should appreciate. Despite its paper credentials this book just never hooked me.

Set in the freezing farmland of 1800s Iceland the plot retells a real historical event from a black sheep’s point of view. The murderer Anges Magusdottir was the last prisoner in Iceland to be executed for their crime, and the novel is Kent’s attempt to fill a historical story with fictional empathy for Anges. I am not saying that the real Anges should have/shouldn’t have died, but it is very difficult to get a reader to remain engaged when the moment they open the book they know the protagonist is going to die. Everything about this book was so predictable. Every moment and interaction was exactly as I expected. Yes we know from the outset that Anges is to die but that doesn’t mean that the story leading up to the point has to be all spelled out. As I started reading I began to set up a bingo game of clichéd predictable moments and soon found my card full. There’s the gruff, lewd guard and company, the thwarted love interest with a curious desire to suck Anges’ fingers. Oh and how could we forget the inquisitive child who befriends the wretched woman. Kent’s novel followed convention so closely that there was no room left for the reader’s imagination.

In many historical fiction novels, the authors try to draw the reader in with the nitty gritty of life in that time. Sometimes this works and the reader gains a new appreciation for the historical background, but in Kent’s case it all felt clichéd. From the descriptions of landscape, of sex, of farm life, nothing seemed original. All the characters felt like stock characters without their own individuality. The setting as well did not leave me with a sense of having lived in Iceland with the characters. I have never been to Iceland in real life. Perhaps people there really are leftover cast members from Les Miserables and maybe the scenery doesn’t leave you with any great memories; I seriously doubt it. Human experiences are hardly ever so blankly gratuitous. Fiction has the power to delve into aspects of humanity that we normally gloss over. Kent’s book, however, only explores its characters on a purely superficial level. There never seems to be any development in the layers of the story. The whole book is focused on the execution while pretending to be distracted by the day-to-day moments that comprise the bulk of the book.

In spite of all my issues with this book, the author has won an award and other people have enjoyed it too. As an example of historical fiction it is accurate in detail but lacking in the execution (pun totally intentional). I think that Kent has tried to please the reality of the history too much and neglected the reality of the fictional world in doing so. Overall it is not an engaging read but not a difficult read either. Big words, small chapters, yet I still could hardly drag myself to the finish. At best it is a procrastination read, the sort of book that only becomes readable when there’s a test in the morning.