Post-Bet F-Have-chilling

Frederiksberg Garden Party in NY this week

Det har kun fremkaldt små notiser i danske aviser, men jeg finder det altså (og ikke kun fordi jeg er abonnent) pænt sensationelt, at Dorthe Nors som den første danske nogensinde har en novelle, som heldigvis er rigtig god, i denne uges New Yorker, "The Heron" hedder den, "Hejren": det er og bliver sgu da stort at læse om Frederiksberg Garden og Damhus Pond som fiktions-lokationer, så dan begynder det (oversat af Martin Aitken):

I won’t feed birds, but, if you must, then you should do so in Frederiksberg Gardens. There are tame herons in Frederiksberg Gardens, and by placing the park’s benches at some distance from one another the park authorities hope to avoid attracting too many birds to one area. There are problems at the end of the park where the alcoholics sit, especially with ducks, but I never go that way, and you can see the herons everywhere. Of the heron itself, one can say only that from a distance it looks impressive, but this doesn’t apply when you get close up. It’s too thin, and the tame herons in particular look malnourished. Most likely all that bread gives the herons of Frederiksberg Gardens bad stomachs and is to blame for their not making an effort to fly.




Og her et klip fra et interview med Nors på New Yorkers hjemmeside:

The story takes a seemingly pastoral setting and reveals its grimier side—the herons are skinny and sullen, alcoholics have taken up residence at one end of the park, while stony-faced mothers wheel baby carriages past the wrecked bicycles that litter the shores of Damhus Pond. Could you have sent another character into the park on the same day and come up with a very different fictional perspective on it? 

Definitely! Danes claim to be the happiest people on the face of the earth, and hardcore happiness takes place in Frederiksberg Gardens on a daily basis. I could easily have described people playing soccer, throwing birthday parties, having picnics, and eating ice cream. It’s very idyllic and neat. But as a writer it’s fun to take a look at the things that live in the shadow. The things that people condemned to happiness would prefer to have removed from the picture. Not only the alcoholics, the sick birds, and the violent incidents—but also Death and other inconvenient stuff.

The great flocks of mothers circling the pond are another species the narrator has little sympathy for. Did you always know your narrator would harbor such vehement feelings about their possible fate? Or were you surprised by the turn you found the story taking as you were writing it?

Oh, I was surprised. I’m quite often surprised by what I write. About the exploding mothers: even though I am a younger woman myself, I am a little scared of women in the so-called ”mother groups.” I like the support they offer each other, but meeting them when they are out walking together is like meeting the Valkyries. You don’t mess with them. You just get out of their way. I think it’s the power of motherhood paired with the extreme competition between the mothers in the group that cooks up something bad in them (that and the enormous amount of cake that women eat in those groups). I didn’t plan to have them explode, though. But BOOM, off they went.

2 forårsmarkører markeret (og her markedsført)

1. En Kung Fu-is spist

2. Frederiksberg Have omkringvandret håndholdende

men fordi det er en enormt skrøbelig fornemmelse af forår, turde jeg ikke gøre det på 1 gang, det ville have været hybris de luxe - især hvis jeg også havde nynnet "En nat bliver det sommer", og det har jeg ikke engang gjort som sin egen ting og slet ikke kombineret med isspisning eller haveomkringvandring, men nu er jeg bange for at komme til at gøre det ubevidst og spontant, fordi jeg skriver om at gøre det her, så blogposten stopper brat.