Lögberg-Heimskringla - 05.12.2003, Side 10

page 10 * Lögberg-Heimskringla • 5 December 2003
FRÉTTIR • NEWS
living room floor; we palmed
glasses of wine, and connected
the way writers do wherever
they meet in the world.
Ragnheiður and Kristín, com-
menting on my lecture — a
rambling paean to the prairie
landscape that had spawned me
— told the others, “We kept
nudging each other and saying,
Yes! Because Martha’s experi-
ence of landscape and ours is
the same!”
Our journey in Iceland was
a scant ten days in which time,
mystically, expanded. Here is
the moment we felt we had
truly arrived in the land of
giants and trolls and elves; of
Christianity and sagas; of poets
and pastors and singers and
fishermen. It really began on
the first day of November in
the living room of my new-
found third cousin, Hanna
Pálsdóttir and her husband, Jón
Vestur Islendingur Visits Iceland -
Martha Brooks on the INL/NA Cultural Exchange
Martha Brooks
WlNNIPEG, MB
flowers and exquisite china,
butterflied chicken on a bed of
curried cream, grapes and
peaches. Strong coffee served
in gold-rimmed demitasses.
And on every available wall,
Icelandic paintings in blues and
greens with splashes of red.
Jón’s Icelandic translation of a
Norwegian poem, tenderly
conveyed to me in English,
brought me to tears. “Where
else in the world,” I thought,
“would complete strangers be
treated with such grace and
affection just because they are
distantly related?”
Well, evidently that’s
Iceland. And it certainly wasn’t
the last we saw of those two
dear people. I must explain
here, that the Icelandic quotient
is only fifty percent of my
blood. My mother’s people
came from Iceland in the late
1800’s - Amma Ingunn from
Svartárkot, Bárðardalur, to live
with her beloved brother A.S.
Bardal, in Winnipeg, and Afi
Runólfur Marteinsson, from
Gilsárteigur, Norður Múla-
Martha and her trio giving a full house what they came for
Bjarman, a retired Lutheran sýsla, to live in Manitoba’s
chaplain, two gorgeous human Interlake.
beings who tenderly ministered
our jet lag. A table set with Continued on Page 11
Enjoying breakfast at Hotel Loftleiðir, Reykjavík. From left:
Ted Warren (drummer) and his wife Kate, Dave Restivo
(pianist) Mike Downes (bassist) and Martha Brooks
In his book, PrairyErth, the
American writer William
Least Heat-Moon says:
“Whenever we enter the land,
sooner or later we pick up the
scent of our own histories, and
when we begin to travel verti-
cally, we end up following road
maps in the marrow of our
bones and in the thump of our
blood.”
I was slated to give a pub-
lic lecture at the University of
Iceland at four o’clock on
November 3, at the invitation
of Guðrún Björk Guðsteins-
dóttir, head of the English
Department. She will be teach-
ing a class on Canadian Young
Adult writing this coming
spring, and in preparation had
told some of her young stu-
dents to be there, and to have
read my latest book, True
Confessions of a Heartless
Girl, as well as an earlier one
called, Bone Dance. It was the
latter book that had Guðrún
curious. She and my husband
Brian and I spent part of the
afternoon together, visiting the
bitterly cold windswept tower
at the top of beautiful
Hallgrím’s Church, examining
ancient manuscripts at The
Culture House, laughing and
swapping stories. And so she
was in a carefree mood when
she said, “I thought when I read
Bone Dance — what is this
woman doing? Her characters
are Native Canadian but they
all seem so Icelandic. Why did-
n’t she just make them
Icelandic? Then I thought, weli
maybe she’s just trying to make
a point. Native Canadian view
of the natural world ánd myth,
and Icelandic view of the natu-
ral world and myth — it’s pret-
ty close to the same thing! Did
you intend that?”
“No,” I replied, laughing.
“No! Really?”
Of course I was beginning
to understand, after only two
days in Iceland, what had
drawn me to my subject matter.
Fourteen days later, back at
home, my lifelong friend,
Pauline Wood, who hails from
Island Lake, a reserve in
Northern Manitoba, would say
with her usual perfunctory wis-
dom, “Ah, yes. You found your
roots.”
I gave the lecture, and a
couple of the people who
attended were Icelandic writ-
ers, Ragnheiður Gestsdóttir,
Chairman of SIUNG, the
Association of Icelandic
Writers for Children and
Youth, and Kristín Steinsdóttir.
I saw them later that evening at
a reception in my honour at
Gunnar’s House, the residence
of the late great writer, Gunnar
Gunnarsson, and now home to
the Icelandic Writer’s
Association. There, sitting in a
circle, our feet caressing the
gleaming warm wood of the
Solmundson Gesta Hús
Hecla Provincial Park
(204) 279-2088
twltz@wb.sympatico.ca
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LÖGBERG-HEIMSKRINGLA
Tin: Icelandic Weekly

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