Reykjavík Grapevine - 08.11.2019, Blaðsíða 12

12 The Reykjavík GrapevineIssue 20— 2019
“At first, people think I am messing
around. But it's all about the journey
around the black hole,” laughs Andri
Snær Magnason, discussing his new
book ‘Um Tímann og Vatni!’ (‘About
Time and Water’).
The writer, performer, and activ-
ist is one of Iceland’s most prodigious
cultural icons. His 2006 creative non-
fiction book ‘Dreamland: A Self-Help
Manual for a Frightened Nation’ antic-
ipated the financial collapse while
taking on Iceland’s dependence on
the aluminum industry and its greed
for energy production at the cost
of ecosystem wellness. He has held
public conversations with countless
major international figures, including
Indian eco-feminist scholar Vandana
Shiva and the Dalai Lama. And, in
2016, Andri Snær took his activism to
the next level when he ran for Iceland’s
presidency.
We sit around the kitchen table as
we chat. Andri’s voice is slightly worn
from a confluence of activities this
autumn. After penning an article for
The Guardian in August, he commem-
orated Okjökull by writing the memo-
rial text for the first glacier funeral in
Iceland. At that time, he had also just
completed ‘Um Tímann og Vatni!’.
“The book is about time and how
science has shown us that all elements
of water on the planet are fundamen-
tally changing,” Andri Snær explains.
“The glaciers are going down. The
sea levels are going up. The acidifica-
tion of the oceans is reaching a level
not seen for 50 million years. Weather
patterns are changing dramatically
everywhere.”
Black hole sum
It’s here that the author’s journey
around the black hole begins.
“In a way, talking about climate
change is like talking about a black
hole,” he suggests. “You can't look
straight into it because it draws in all
light. There is nothing there. You get
no signal, no bounceback. The only
way to talk about a black hole is by not
talking about a black hole. The only
way to talk about a black hole is to look
at the periphery.”
The periphery in ‘Um Tímann og
Vatni!’ contains interviews, myths,
and stories from Andri Snær’s family
and life experiences. Through these,
he approaches the black hole of climate
change. “I have interviews with my
grandfather about [J. Robert] Oppen-
heimer. I have talked to the Dalai
Lama. My grandfather’s sister tells me
about when she was [J.R.R.] Tolkien’s
nanny in 1930,” he says, outlining the
book’s contents. “I use these as side
stories.”
Loaded
language
Andri Snær holds steady eye contact
as he talks, his glacier-blue irises
encircling each black-hole pupil.
“This issue is so large that language
collapses. Meaning collapses. Meta-
phors collapse,” he explains. “One of
the ways to talk about that is by not
talking about it, by diverting the story
to the periphery and using that to
resonate at the scale of what is actu-
ally in the centre.”
“[The climate crisis] is bigger than
language,” Andri Snær emphasises.
“It is bigger than any words I can use.
I can't say it is enormous in the 12th
degree or incredible. I can't scale up
my language like I can with numbers.
The way we scale up language is with
mythology—with archetypes and
stories.”
He highlights the decreasing pH
of the oceans as an example. “The
words ‘ocean acidification’ were
first mentioned in Icelandic media
in 2006,” he recalls. “These are the
biggest words in the world; it’s the
biggest fundamental change of the
ocean’s chemistry for 15 million years.
How can I communicate that with a
term first mentioned here in 2006? A
concept like ocean acidification is not
connected to anything cultural. It's
not connected to The Beatles. It's not
connected to Hitler or Stalin or the
French Revolution or Martin Luther
King. It's not connected to baby seals,
even though it is about baby seals.”
This disconnection segues to
another point. “What does a nuclear
bomb mean before or after it has
exploded?” he asks. “After it has
exploded, it is loaded with meaning.
Before it's exploded, it is just a concept;
it’s a big metal thing with some imagi-
nary outcome. We can't really wait
for ‘ocean acidification’ to get its load
because then we will be done. The shit
will have hit the fan.”
It’s here that Andri Snær zeroes in
on the crux of ‘Um Tímann og Vatni!’.
“I am exploring how words have no
meaning until they are fully loaded
with meaning. It is important that we
understand the full size of the words
used to talk about climate change. Most
of the book, I don't mention climate
change. When people ask me what
am I writing about—if I say ‘climate
change’, they would just roll their eyes.
But when I change the answer and I
say I am writing about time of water
and all elements of what is changing in
the next 100 years, people reply, ‘Okay,
interesting!’ I can see their ear flaps
open. I can see their brains illuminat-
ing.”
Neo-saga
The kitchen table between us is lit by
afternoon sun. We pour tea as we talk,
dividing water between two glasses.
“A year ago, people were asking me,
‘are you sure it's one story? Aren't these
five stories? One interview with the
Dalai Lama, one book about glaciers
in Iceland, one about your grand-
mother…’ But I said no,” he recalls. “I
want everything to weave together like
a tapestry.”
Andri Snær admits that this
unusual structure was perhaps influ-
enced by the Icelandic sagas. “In Njáls
Saga, there is a man named Mör!ur,
but now we're going to another place.
They introduce somebody and then go
elsewhere. We don't really know how
the threads come together until the
very end,” he offers. “In my book, I also
introduce characters in the beginning,
but their meaning comes at the end of
the book.”
He cites additional literary influ-
ences in the works of Rebecca Solnit,
Sven Lindqvist, and W.G. Sebald. “They
write this kind of literature of tapes-
tries, where lots of threads are woven
and come together at some point, and
where a story starts in the distance but
eventually makes it to the core.”
Family stories
In lieu of abstract concepts like climate
change or ocean acidification, Andri
Snær offers tangible, felt access to the
same issues by interweaving stories of
water and family.
“I try to think about the concepts
and there's nothing there,” he says. “If I
think about my grandchildren, okay—
but they don't exist either. There is no
load, no person in that idea. Instead
of thinking about my grandchildren, I
think about my grandparents because
those are people who are at in the
same distance, just in the other direc-
tion. And they are fully loaded; they
have lived their full lives. Instead of
going forwards, I go backwards.”
Pancake sci-fi
Two teacups, a kettle, audio-recording
equipment, and a computer populate
the space of the kitchen table. Andri
Snær gestures to the instruments.
“When you start talking about the
gadgets of the future, you stop focus-
ing on the human,” he explains. “If I
We Are A Fire Cult :
Andri Snær Magnason talks
rivers of oil, humans as
volcanoes, and pancake sci-fi
Words:
a rawlings
Photo:
Anna Magg!