Names for the Sea: Strangers in Iceland

I’ve made 2 trips to Iceland and will be there again soon for a few days. I learned a lot from this book about the culture and history.Iceland is truly a unique place. The scenery is gorgeous, but also treacherous. This author was brave to live through one of their winters, especially with two small children.I’d recommend this book to anyone traveling to Iceland.

The author wonders about things quite a bit, but her wondering doesn't lead to anything. For example, she and her (mostly) non-native Icelandic pals wonder at great length about how pre-war Icelanders, with their diet of root vegetables, lamb and fish, avoided scurvy. They postulate and then accept as proven, their theory that the Icelanders made teas out of native grass and moss and that is where they got their vitamin C. In fact, a quick peek at Wikipedia would have informed these intellectuals that fresh/frozen meat (that is meat that is not salted, dried, canned or pickled) contains more than enough vitamin C to ward off scurvy. The author is teaching a course about food in literature. Has she not read any literature about sea voyages or polar exploration? Or any books at all where food is treated as other than a metaphor or political statement?The author wonders at great length about why Icelanders drive SUVs. She concedes that a 4 wheel drive might be handy, but never an SUV. Since the author never speaks to anyone who actually owns an SUV (she would never lower herself to speak to such a person) I suggest this thought experiment: She might wonder what happens when you get stuck on the road in a blizzard. (Remember that Iceland is huge with a tiny population, there are vast areas where no help is anywhere nearby) Even this author might figure out that you need food, sleeping bags, shovels, warning lights, flash lights, batteries, extra gas and good boots. You need to be able to get to the equipment from inside the car, since your trunk will, not might, will freeze shut. Actually, your car doors will freeze shut, so it would be hard to even get to the trunk. You also have to reckon on the chance that a snow plow will run into you. Thus, a big SUV is a safe bet if you want to survive.But survival isn't important with this author.She recounts the story of "The Coolest Icelander" who, after a boating accident, swam miles to shore in 6 degree C water, at night, and when he reached land had to climb a cliff to get help for his comrades. She doesn't believe the story, which she later finds is true, because "Any ordinary person ...would give up somewhere between the sinking bit and the getting washed off the keel bit and succumb regretfully to hypothermia, which is apparently not a bad way to go. It's not normal to take yourself that seriously." Really? Normal people don't even try to save themselves?In another instance, she interviews a couple who survived a volcano. The lava was flowing towards the town. Folks alerted neighbors and helped one another get to the harbor, where local fishermen got every single person out safe. A heroic night I thought. The author however doesn't agree. It seems that neighbors can't help one another without leadership."Someone must have taken charge, I think. Someone made those phone calls."Theodor and Margret have followed this. [She is speaking through a translator] "No. It was just people calling their family and friends. People who noticed something was wrong.' "I guess it's normal to allow yourself to be entombed by lava while waiting for the authorities to act. Normal people don't take themselves or their neighbors that seriously.It's not till the last quarter of the book that the author goes out and talks to actual Icelanders. And she's not happy when she does!! There's crime in Iceland!!! A nation with a lesbian President has domestic violence!!! Hunger!! Icelandic sweater patterns aren't all that old!!!Take my advice: If your boat sinks in the North Atlantic at least try to save yourself. There's not much chance you'll make it, but it's the only chance you've got. If lava is bearing down on you: RUN. Knock on your neighbor's doors if you can, but get out. Do not wait for the authorities to save you. Do not bother with this book. It's just a pseudo intellectual ruminating about a country she doesn't even try to understand.

Having visited this magnificent country a few times, I'm enthralled with Sarah's take on all the historic significance of the towns. This is a country that has captured my heart, and clearly, hers as well.

If someone were to ask me what this book is about, I think I would have a hard time answering. It’s about the author’s time in Iceland, obviously, yet the accounts of a million different things just drift all over the place and I was never quite sure where the author was going with anything. I give three stars because (from time to time) something would be interesting, yet when would return to drifting everywhere and filled with the author’s negativity. I thought it would be over when the author decided to move from Iceland to Cornwall, yet I was surprised that the book continued on. And on. And on. The author suddenly announces that she’s going back to Iceland for a visit. The book goes on. And on. And on. Are you getting the idea? At that point I realized that I was forcing myself to read the rest, so I stopped and I don’t want to finish it.

I think the author has penned a perfectly fine book for those who look at relocating to Iceland through the eyes of a mother and an educator.However if you're looking for a portrayal of Iceland's (and particularly Reykjavik's) absolutely remarkable and cosmopolitan mix of rock and roll and fashion and art and progressive politics (and incredible healthcare system)this definitely isn't the book for you.I recently spent a few weeks in Reykjavik as I hope to retire there in five years, fell head over heels in love with the country and its people, and the Reykjavik the author describes is almost unrecognizable to me.But this isn't intended as criticism. It's not the author's fault that I bought the wrong book.

For those interested in what it might be like to live in Iceland for a person not born there, this is a good memoir. It is the story of a British woman and her family who live in Iceland for a year while she is teaching British Literature in a college in Rykyjavik just after the crash when Iceland almost went bankrupt. Very insightful comments about everyday life and people's attitudes toward children, food, recreation and education. An engaging story.

This memoir reveals the author's love for Iceland as well as some quirks that only a stranger's perspective could discern. Sarah Moss found beauty in exquisite vistas and the arctic sky. As a mother she also discovered some customs about children that were not her cup of tea. She was in Iceland just after the financial collapse. She was astounded by Reykjavik's residents' dislike of walking, taking the bus, riding a bike, and even thinking of buying second-hand items. I wonder if the financial bubble, good-times spoiled Reykjavik's younger generations. My favorite author, Bill Holm ("The Windows of Brimnes"), said that opinions of Iceland could not be made from just Reykjavik, which is a large city (based on Icelandic standards). I loved Sarah Moss' book ending with her journey up Ring Road. I can't wait to spend several weeks enjoying a similar Icelandic adventure. Like Sarah Moss, after one visit to Iceland, I yearn to return.

I am a big fan of Sarah Moss and a big fan of Iceland; hard not to enjoy this book!

Sarah Moss visited Iceland in her late teens when she and her friend backpacked around Route 1, a road which travels around the country to connect the inhabited parts. She fell in love with the country and, twenty years later when a job came up at the University of Reykjavik she applied on a whim. She subsequently moved there with her family (husband, Anthony and two sons; Max and Tobias) just as the Icelandic economy crashed. Names for the Sea: Strangers in Iceland is her account of their year living almost at the top of the world and it is a phenomenal and intriguing read.It is very difficult to review this sort of book objectively. I worry that I may end up criticising the author’s choices when I have no idea how I would cope in the situation she and her family were in. I did find some experiences curious and do question some of the decisions made (there seemed to be a lack of planning, especially when it came to things like childcare) and I was confused by how little the author’s husband made an appearance and how we didn’t seem to get any insight into how the move impacted upon their relationship. I don’t mean in a voyeuristic way, but this was a huge move to a different country with a very different culture and (and I may have misunderstood this) he didn’t work, or drive and I would have loved to have known how he felt about his year in Reykjavik and the impact upon his psyche.I was blown away by the differences in culture between the UK and Iceland, from child-rearing, to cuisine and attitudes they are wide and varied. Sarah Moss writes about her struggles and her family’s isolation well – Icelandic families spend their weekends with extended family and as ‘foreigners’ they didn’t have these ties. Weekends are spent in their apartment (the only inhabited one in their block), venturing out to the swimming pool or zoo if weather permitted. This is a country whose economy has been decimated, money that didn’t exist has been spent on extravagances such as widescreen TVs, SUVs and exotic holidays. Sarah and her family are consistently told that the country is in recession and money is scarce, but she struggles to see any sign of this. There is no second-hand market meaning that they must furnish their temporary accommodation with brand new and expensive IKEA products, most families have multiple cars and public transport is rarely used (she is an anomoly choosing to cycle to work for as long as the weather allows it).There is also a large exploration of the myths and legends in Iceland. Stories and fables passed down from generation to generation to strike fear into listeners. The landscape is punishing and unforgiving; volcanos that erupt and cut off entire towns, geysers bubbling under the surface and ice holes that a walker can inadvertently fall down and disappear forever are just some of the natural phenomenon here. The stories reflect the nature and in many case are used as tools to keep children indoors and away from the blizzards swirling outside. Sarah Moss does a wonderful job of describing Iceland, there are beautiful and evocative descriptions of landscape and of the Aurora Borealis which I found incredibly moving at times (and wildly jealous of her seeing so frequently and clearly).Overall, this book made me want to visit Iceland. Immediately. I have been inquisitive about the country for some time – I enjoy Icelandic literature (Ragnar Jónasson and Lilja Sigurðardóttir are two wonderful examples) and a friend of mine visited Reykjavik last year and raved about it. Despite the difficulties Sarah and her family faced she writes about the country with tenderness and respect and it is evident how much she adored her time there (despite the lack of fresh fruit and veg in the supermarkets).This wasn’t a book that had been on my radar at all, it is my Book Club read for March and I am so pleased it was chosen as I really enjoyed it and found it a great and insightful read. If memoirs, travelogues and non-fiction books are your thing then this could be the book for you.

I've bought this book twice: once when contemplating going to Iceland and again prior to definitely going. I’m afraid I don’t have the book in front of me as I’m writing this whilst avoiding going out into the snow in Hafnarfjordur near Reykjavik, so my comments below are vague and rely on memory of the book’s contents.At first, I was annoyed by the author’s rather middle class / intellectual / chattering class judgemental attitude, then it dawned on me that she was mostly taking the urine out of herself for this, and was actually providing us with a very fair assessment of the differences between British (middle class) culture and Icelandic culture, finding strengths and weaknesses in both.My wife and I strongly agree with her observations about attitudes to risk in Iceland. As she describes, we did indeed see prams left outside shops, and this, moreover, on Reykjavik’s equivalent of Oxford Street! Steep drops at the roadside like those we saw in Iceland would be fenced off in the UK, but clearly Icelanders take the view that people can make their own risk assessments. Some tourist locations, such as the waterfalls, were barely protected from danger. We took a flight from Reykjavik city airport to Akureyri and back, and on the return journey were amazed to see the laid-back attitude to safety on boarding the plane: no one to shepherd us to the plane, or to avoid the propeller blades; we just wandered across the tarmac. After all, people aren’t really so dumb as to walk into danger as we think they are in the UK... are they?Sarah Moss describes the driving in Iceland. Yes, she is right that so many people drive huge, unnecessary four-wheel drive monsters, and the number of cars on the main arteries into the capital seems to be more than the total population of the country, which left us baffled as to how the buses could be so packed. However, I recall that she complains about the bad driving, which has not been our experience at all. We found we only had to be near the edge of a pavement for cars to stop for us to cross (at times when we didn’t want to!) and they stopped typically about 15 yards from us, to courteously give us space, which would never happen in the UK. We are looking out of our 4th floor hotel window now and my wife has just commented how much more slowly cars are being driven in the snow today compared to snow-less yesterday. Sarah wrote that drivers rarely indicated before turning, arguing that this relates to a fundamental Icelandic trait of a reluctance to share one’s inner thoughts with others, so this is something I have deliberately watched for and I have concluded that Sarah was totally wrong about this, or behaviour and psychology has dramatically altered in the few years since the book was published.Sarah explored attitudes to poverty and specifically the availability of second-hand items in the country. The latter, we were told by a shopkeeper, has massively changed since the financial crisis. Buying second-hand is now cool, and we saw several flea markets and second-hand clothes shops. This shopkeeper told us that despite the obvious wealth in the country, there is an underclass of very poor people. My googling tells me that the average gross annual wage in Iceland is £42,000, compared with £27,000 in the UK. We went to the Kringlan shopping centre (think Cribbs Causeway, White Rose Centre, small Trafford Centre) and were baffled at how so many Icelandic people could afford the expensive and luxurious items there. Given the population of the country is 320,000, most of them seemed to be in that shopping centre on the Saturday we were there.Sarah described the aloofness of Icelandic people. We found totally the opposite. On two occasions in the past few days, within seconds of my getting my map out, an Icelander came up to us to offer help with directions, without being asked. Complete strangers initiated lengthy conversations with us in shops and restaurants.The attitude to environmental issues is very contradictory in Iceland. Whilst we saw many claims to be protecting the environment, conserving resources, avoiding carbon emissions etc, Iceland seems to be a very wasteful country, as Sarah described in relating how utilities were left on in the unfinished flats near to her. One of our main reasons to be here was to see the Northern Lights (we succeeded!), but this was hampered by unnecessary light pollution: people parked with headlights left blazing, the exterior of many houses looking more like Blackpool Illuminations throughout the night, no plugs in washbasins (“Just let the water run; we have plenty”), whilst signs in our hotel bathroom urged us to save water by re-using our towels! Maybe cheap geothermal heat is so readily available in Iceland that people take it for granted, but that offends those of us from less well-resourced regions.So, our experience has been that Sarah Moss got some descriptions right and others wrong. Or Iceland has changed massively in the past few years.

Though definitely a person who basks in hotter-the-better sun, I am lured and also terrified by the climates of harsh, cold, isolation.So Sarah Moss's obsession with, love of Iceland, biographical account of a year spent living and working there, was always going to be an absorbing read. In many ways my interest is as much in `how does a person coming from one culture assimilate into another' as it is in learning about a different culture; that is because the outsider sees things the in-dweller cannot, because it is so much part of their fabric that they can't step outside it.Moss first went to Iceland when she was 19, over a university summer holiday, with a friend. By the time covered by this book, she is in her thirties, married, with two children, and a university lecturer (and of course a writer) This is post-the collapse of Iceland, and she had a accepted a lecturing commitment for a year at Reykjavik University. By the time she got there, her salary had so far dropped in its buying power as to make living there for the year quite hard.What she found puzzling is that certainly amongst the middle classes she could not really see much evidence of what `collapse' had done to society, as, in boom, Iceland had moved to be a highly consumerist culture, households with several gas guzzling vehicles, a society of perennial new spend and dumping (not recycling, not sell-or-give-away-as second-hand) of the mildly out-moded but still fully functioning. She discovered this, even, in small children's clothing. Unlike her middle-class-British-society, where mums were cheerfully passing on clothes to other mums 3 months behind them in child-age, to the Icelanders, there was something distasteful and a little shameful in this:"The Icelandic horror at the idea of the second-hand seems to be partly to do with the impossibility of anonymity here, the fear of `strangers' The risk is one of disclosure, that the person who classified the object as `trash' might see the same object reclassified by someone else.....this is why secondhand clothes are so terrible, because the anonymity of charitable giving might be broken, you might recognise your child's outgrown clothes on someone else and thus have to acknowledge some kind of hierarchy. One of the most widely held beliefs among Icelanders is that there is no hierarchy here"Moss is both a lover of Iceland, and its people, and bemused and at times critical of it. During her year she also discovered that some of what Iceland told about itself TO itself - such as its low crime figures were just not true, and, even discovered in the forays she made with Icelandic friends around the country as her year drew to its close, that they too were starting to see a hidden Iceland that they had not known existed.Along the way we meet the made-up tradition of `Icelandic knitting' (not something dating back to Viking times at all), a belief in elves alive and well, and of course, the `old' diet, divorced of fresh fruit and vegetables, for large parts of the year, later superseded, as Iceland entered its boom years by exotic greengrocery from all over the world, now returning, as the price of food sky-rocketed, to earlier privationsAnd, of course, there is much that hinges up an inescapably close relationship with climate, geography, landscape and the rules imposed by a far more dramatic relationship with day and night, cold and colder, than we have in most of these isles.

Many more of us are visiting this enticing country but know little of what everyday working life in Iceland would be like. Sarah Moss draws us into her year spent in Reykjavik with her husband and young family, as she undertakes a university post teaching English Literature. It has to be a relatively frugal year, living on one salary. The young sons pick up Icelandic, but their mother is shy at practising hers, and anyway, everyone seems to speak English. The underfloor heating goes some way towards mitigating the vagaries of the ever-changing weather, but the winter dark and cold are an undeniable feature.The family are warmly helped to settle in by newly met friends. Petur has a fund of stories of when he worked on farms in the sixties. Cut off during the winter months, news was shouted accross rivers, and everyone could listen in on the communal telephone line. Some Icelandic history is gleaned through meetings with locals, and they often make it come alive. Theodor, the grandfather of one of her students from the Westman islands recounts how he carried people away in his fishing boat when the volcano erupted. His wife remembers how she grabbed the six children, put them in whatever she could find and just ran for the harbour. Four hundred houses were destroyed and another three hundred filled up and covered over with ash. Gradually, through observation, daily life and meeting some interesting folk, Sarah gathers insight about the education and social systems, the Icelandic diet, the financial crash, the enduring influence of Icelandic sagas, and the people who seem to really believe in elves.A year after leaving, the family return for a more care-free exploration of the island. They stay at Petur's summer house on the northern side of the Snaefellsnes peninsula, they travel across lava fields named after the Berserkers (Vikings who went into trance-states of uncontrollable violence), and they pass country which changes from lava and rock to green farmland at the feet of volcanos, then resembles Alpine landscapes and Norwegian-like fijords and the Scottish lowlands... This is richly described and makes you want to take out the walking boots and take a trip.

I liked the start of this. But I felt the author started getting a bit judgemental of people who weren’t Icelanders half way through. She constantly criticised and body shamed another woman on a tour she was on. Women criticising other people women is so draining. I don’t suppose the author is an oil painting herself.