Monday 31 January 2022

Storytellers by Bjørn Larssen (book excerpt) #BlogTour

 

Chez Maximka, books set in Iceland

I'm incredibly excited to be able to share with you a book excerpt from one of my favourite books, Storytellers by Bjørn Larssen. This is an absolutely beautiful novel, atmospheric and evocative. It conjures up a strong sense of place and time. Bjørn's storytelling skills are special, his style is inimitable, witty and distinctive.

Storytellers

Would you murder your brothers to keep them from telling the truth about themselves?

On a long, cold Icelandic night in March 1920, Gunnar, a hermit blacksmith, finds himself with an unwanted lodger – Sigurd, an injured stranger who offers a story from the past. But some stories, even those of an old man who can barely walk, are too dangerous to hear. They alter the listeners' lives forever… by ending them.

Others are keen on changing Gunnars life as well. Depending on who gets to tell his story, it might lead towards an unwanted marriage, an intervention, rejoining the Church, letting the elf drive him insane, or succumbing to the demons in his mind. Will he manage to write his own last chapter?

Bjørn Larssens award-winning, Amazon #1 best selling novel is an otherworldly, emotive Icelandic saga – a story of love and loneliness, relief and suffering, hatred… and hope.

Purchase Link - https://books2read.com/storytellers/


Author Bio 

Bjørn Larssen is a Norse heathen made in Poland, but mostly located in a Dutch suburb, except for his heart which he lost in Iceland. Born in 1977, he self-published his first graphic novel at the age of seven in a limited edition of one, following this achievement several decades later with his first book containing multiple sentences and winning awards he didnt design himself. His writing is described as dark’ and literary, but he remains incapable of taking anything seriously for more than 60 seconds.

Bjørn has a degree in mathematics and has worked as a graphic designer, a model, a bartender, and a blacksmith (not all at the same time). His hobbies include sitting by open fires, dressing like an extra from Vikings, installing operating systems, and dreaming about living in a log cabin in the north of Iceland. He owns one (1) husband and is owned by one (1) neighbourhood cat.


Social Media Links 

https://twitter.com/bjornlarssen

https://www.instagram.com/bjorn_larssen/

https://www.facebook.com/bjornlarssenwriter

Chez Maximka, books set in Iceland

Bjørn tells his readers,

When I started working on Storytellers, I didn’t know yet it would be set in Iceland. I already knew, though, that it would be about a small community, claustrophobic rather than cosily tight-knit. One where the only person who believes something to be secret is the one who doesn’t know everyone else talks about it openly behind their back.

Klettafjörður, the Icelandic village that became the book’s setting, established itself as more and more people built houses near each other. It wasn’t just about geographical proximity, though, but the roles that needed casting. The gossip hub, for instance, used to be the inn, but when prohibition was introduced and the inn closed down the local store’s owner, Anna, gladly took over. Brynhildur, her daughter, is much less happy with her role, which is that of her mother’s spinster daughter who failed to land a man.

As it happens, technically there is an eligible bachelor around, Gunnar. Unfortunately, he’s the local outcast. What, how, why, or when that happened is hard to say… those days are about to come to an end, though. True, he’s a dirty, smelly, drunken blacksmith. But… if it were to turn out that he had more money than he appears to have… Brynhildur would be more than happy to fix those problems. It’s time for Gunnar to clean up his act, join the Church, become a respectable citizen – and, of course, get married. Gunnar’s opinion on any of those things is not required.

 

 

Anna and her daughter Brynhildur were busy having a fight.

What you are wearing is not only inappropriate, but will also give you pneumonia,huffed Anna. Youve got goosebumps all over your forearms. Put on a sweater.Brynhildur, who made her dresses and blouses herself, seemed to enjoy exposing her cleavage to the burning cold. The large cross pendant did nothing to disperse unclean thoughts.

A sweater over this dress is going to look… inappropriate.

“No, now you look inappropriate. Give this to me.Anna twisted a thick knit shawl around Brynhildurs neck and secured it with a heavy green brooch from the unsold foreverbox. “Here.”

Youre still treating me like Im a child,complained her daughter. “I’m a grown up, I can take care of myself.She removed the shapeless brooch and untangled herself from the shawl, trying to look resolute.

Funny,said Anna. At your age I was already married for five years. And your sister got married at the age of twenty-seven, same as me. Happy as a pig in mud. Maybe you take care of yourself too well. Give me that.She started wrapping Brynhildur in the shawl again.

Its not my fault that Ásta is so egotistic. It was my turn. Since when are you pleased about her marrying the merchants son? She betrayed us!

Do not raise your voice at me,huffed Anna, securing the brooch. Dont you dare take this off. You dont get to marry someone because it’s ‘your turn. You need to give them reasons to think you would make a good wife. Put on a nice warm hat.She was rummaging through the unsold foreverbox again.

I dont want a hat, it will ruin my braids. I dont care what they think, as long as they notice me!

Anna turned away from the box sharply and hit her daughter with a fierce glare.

“I’m sorry I shouted,said Brynhildur, demonstratively pulling the shawl tighter. “I’m just trying to look warm and welcoming,she continued, then shivered involuntarily. But its like they are afraid of me…

Theyre not afraid,huffed her mother. They think youre a hussy. All these powders, lipstick and whatnot are only going to get everyone to talk about you. And not in a nice way.She pulled a beige woollen hat with pom-poms out of the box. Here. Wear this.

That doesnt fit my complexion.Brynhildur pushed away her mother’s insistent hands.

As long as you live in my house, youre going to do what I tell you. Stop moving!

Brynhildur’s lower lip began to tremble slightly just as the doorbell rang. Both women, completely enmeshed in their fight, turned to look at the customer. Their facial expressions were identical: eyes wide open, mouth agape, as if shocked that someone could actually enter the store.

Gunnar, who – as always – tried to open the door so softly the bell wouldnt make a sound, and – as always – failed, froze as well. His heart leapt into his throat, beating faster and harder. Four identical eyes the colour of grass in October stared at him, unblinking. Gunnars hand convulsively jumped towards the flask in the inside pocket of his coat, he took half a step back and bumped into a shelf. A cookbook fell next to his head and made all three jump. Anna withdrew swiftly towards the back of the store, leaving her daughter to deal with the blacksmith.

He’s a bachelor, Brynhildur remembered. An unusually warm smile brightened her face, and her hand absent-mindedly started fiddling with the brooch. As Gunnar squatted clumsily to pick up the book, Brynhildur took in the sight of his wide shoulders. “Gunnar, dear!” When the blacksmith straightened up, she couldnt help but notice his eyes were gentle and displayed vulnerability. Good news, we sold your roses, so Ive got some money for you. Bring us more roses, dear. People come here and ask for them and they get angry when I say we dont have any at the moment. Theyre very popular decorations for graves.An artist, she thought, creative, perhaps a bit moody, but talented. A drunk, true, but that was fixable…

Ah,said the blacksmith, whose imagination presented him with the image of a rose-adorned gravestone with his name on it. “I’ll, eh, see what I can do. I need some things…He touched the 100 kronur in his pocket, and blushed. Brynhildurs unblinking stare always made him think about birds of prey. Perhaps he could make do with his old clothes for a bit longer.

Yes?she urged him.

I need, I need… newspapers. And a mattress–

“Oh my gosh! You’re in luck, imagine, Helga just died!enthused Brynhildur, then quickly cast a look towards her mother. I mean,she continued in very different tone, of course, its very sad and unfortunate… You know Helga? The one with the cats? Used to own the inn? She lives, I mean lived, down the street, on the corner…

“Aye,” said Gunnar. He didnt know Helga. What about her?

Well… she died recently and she lived alone. Theres a list of things the family are getting rid of, here, in the window. There should be a mattress, if its not sold yet. They might still have some chairs too, maybe a sofa…

Gunnar shuddered at the idea of buying other unnecessary furniture. He was already dealing with more than enough changes in his own homestead. Just a mattress. And pillows, if they have them. And blankets. Goodbye.

Just a minute,said Brynhildur quickly, her voice pitched a bit higher than she intended. You can buy blankets here too, new ones! I just thought Id mention it for your convenience. And your newspapers! Ive got the old ones here for you. Anything else?The brooch she was fiddling with finally opened, and the shawl fell to the ground. The only person that noticed was Anna, who managed to remain silent by pressing her lips together so firmly that they formed a thin, white line. Gunnar let go of the door handle, then reluctantly turned back towards Brynhildur. A hot ball of dread sat inside his chest and it would remain there until he had a chance to ingest some medication.

Aye… current newspapers, too.

Oh? Anything in particular?

Just, eh… one of each.

How nice! Er… why?

Interested,he said. In, um, news. Who knows what could be happening in the world.

Not even Brynhildur’s expertise at extricating information from customers was enough to find the reason for Gunnars newfound interest in the worlds welfare. She did, however, manage to liberate him from all the money he had earned through the sale of roses. The moment the door shut, she immediately turned towards Anna. Imagine!she gasped. What do you think this means?

What it means,erupted Anna, is that you are not only a hussy, but also blind and stupid. For Gunnar? He stinks, for God’s sake! He’s constantly drunk. And look what hes wearing…

There is no shame in not being rich…” Brynhildur’s voice died out. Anna shook her head, looking at the blush slowly colouring her daughters face. Brynhildur squatted to pick up the shawl. “I’m cold,she said meekly. Would you perhaps be able to help me with this brooch, Mother?

“I’m not as stupid as you think,scoffed Anna, tightening the shawl a bit too much. If you want to live with a dirty, smelly, poor alcoholic, suit yourself…

I wonder,Brynhildur said, thoughtfully, why would the doctor and his wife take so long to conceive? Her being, you know, the doctors wife and everything? Not that I am suggesting they had any problems, of course.

Stay away from Gunnar Karlsson is all I am saying…Her mothers eyes softened. Of course they didnt have any problems. Although it is very interesting indeed, and perhaps I could visit her mother and ask. But have you seen her? She has such a pretty glow, she must be so happy! And it will be such a lucky child, having Brynjólf as a father…

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Many thanks to Bjørn Larssen and Rachel's Random Resources for inviting me to take part in the blog tour for this exceptional book!

And here is my review of Storytellers.

Chez Maximka, books set in Iceland


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