Middle aged woman writes about a middle-aged woman set in the middle ages

 

Kristin Lavransdatter by Sigrid Undset

Friend, let me tell you how I got my hands on this masterpiece. Apparently Undset deserves way more credit than she has received in American literary circles. Well, in this low-traffic blog, I plan to bestow high honor, and, upon my friend Cindy who somehow got her hands on this and gave it to me for my 42nd birthday, in this past year, in the thick of covid bedlam. 

Let me preface my praise by saying that this book is not for everyone. Lest you think me a snob, I will  declare that unless you are entranced with other cultures, particularly Scandinavian cultures, and other time periods, and detailed accounts of the lives of obscure people of the dark ages, this is not to be your friend and companion as it has been mine these past three months of fall. Unless you are fascinated by the clash of paganism and the church at its high and mightiest in the midst of the very real and raw every day glory and grind of medieval intensity, this may not be for you. If you are looking for that summer romance, that suspenseful page turner, the contemporary connection, most definitely look elsewhere.

I didn't dive into it right away. I probably had to finish up some other thing or bedside book and be in the proper frame of mine to embark on such a quest. This is not one novel mind you, but a trilogy tucked into one heavy book that has been my bedstead friend, my husband's bedside enemy, a place to set my coffee, and a very excellent way to end the day. 

Have you ever read a book which reveals the soul of the author? A very good story reveals something of the author. Perhaps Louisa May Alcott was motivated to write "stories for young ladies" because she was desperate to support her family, nonetheless her stories reveal something of her heart, or perhaps I am hopelessly naïve. 

This woman (Sigrid, we're on a first name basis or I hope we will be one day) was a genius, a historian, a social psychologist, a mother for sure, and a hard worker. This story fascinated me and wore me out. Her energy was somehow transferred onto Kristin who labored as the mistress of her farm no less, surely, than the creator of this saga. 

The ideas I had about the story when I opened its pages and was introduced to this flaxen haired creature who seemed to be complex yet aloof and concrete at the same time, were completely flummoxed as the story unfolded. Suffice it to say, dear reader, that if you have determined that you are not one of my above mentioned type of readers, and are bent to open these pages, I am loathe to spoil the plot. If my writing seems a bit medieval, attribute it to my hours spent within these depths of heaviness, or perhaps to the old vine zin that bethrones my table. Bethrones apparently is not a word. I warned you about my word innovation problem. 

Now to despoil without spoiling... Kristin, I have despised you, identified with you, and loved you. You have driven me crazy at times with your attention to detail, propensity for anxiety, and mostly because of your Catholic guilt. Like all of my favorite stories, this one contains its share of romantic love, but unlike other stories, the "forbidden" love is painfully and joyously played out in the entire life of a woman. This unusual turn of events makes this story shockingly realistic. Usually this type of story ends up with the wedding or the kiss of true love or whatever. Shudder. This one (respect!) actually deigns to portray life after marriage with all of its harrowing ups and downs, and the stringent unromantic day ins and day outs of marital marathon. 

It unveils the repressed affection and passion of the rejected suitor turned brother-in-law (awkward?) who honorably maintains a friendship and is suspected of nothing more until the bitter jaws of death reveal it. Sorry about the bitter jaws of death metaphor. Trite.

"Follow" (influence of social media in my writing?) Kristin's parents who seem one dimensional at first, but harbor desires and secrets of their own. 

 

We witness the raw disappointment that devoted parents feel when a child goes their own way, and Kristin's guilt for letting her heart lead her head.

We see how emotion continues to cloud judgment and even sisterly affection is choked out by rivalry.

We see how strife is mended in times of need by selfless caring and irrational charity.  

We see a couple continuously trying to reconcile their immense personality differences in a setting and time that is immersed in political intrigue, a harsh climate, a rigid religious system, rigorous living conditions (middle ages peeps), and the birth of child after child. Yet you see them continuously falling in love with one another and their incessant fascination by the complexity of the other and yes, attraction to each other's physical charms. (enneagram four here, people - this is what kept me coming back, not the physical charms - the romance!)

I love the medieval folklore. As a postmodern reader, I am less fascinated by Catholic ritual, but I am also intrigued by its foreignness to my own pragmatic and intellectualized approach to faith. The author's own spiritual affiliations are on display here and the exploration of medieval Catholicism in Norway is definitely not neglected. I believe she was an adult convert to Catholicism. I definitely can applaud that faith was the mainstay of her life's romance even when the temporal ties of marriage had faded through death. The practice of her spirituality is the backbone of her strength. 

The woman and mother in me relates to Kristin, but I feel like my spirit animal relates to Erlend, the husband. I related to wanting to stay the winters out in the "line shack" (please excuse my cowboy insert here, I am fully aware the Sigrid did not call it a "line shack.") I think it was a hunting cabin. They fought and he retreated to the line shack where he reveled in freedom from responsibility, closeness to nature, raw living, and lack of cleanliness. She, in all her holier than thou dutifulness, stays behind to run the estate and provide the proper kind of environment for her herd (oops cowboy insert again) of sons who eventually do exactly as they please anyway, products of two willful personalities. 

Eventually, in one of my personal favorite parts of the series, she shows up to confront him after pridefully pretending that he hasn't existed for a number of months and telling everyone that all is perfectly well between them. (Oh that's another annoying thing about the provinciality of the middle ages. Everything is about keeping up appearances.) She shows up in all her middle age glory (not middle ages, middle aged ha! - another thing that makes this book so appealing to the middle aged reader) only to to discover that they're both still irreconcilably infatuated with one another. They have the most delightful honeymoon that they never had, conceive a child (this book is not burdened by American puritanical tendencies), and he beseeches her to leave off the endless estate managing to come live with him in the line shack. 

This is where Kristin and I parted ways. She returned to the estate and I stayed there with Erlend. Ha ha, No, in reality I live in suburban California with my own very devoted estate manager. 

Suffice it to say they didn't have the Cinderella happy ending or even the Mr. and Mrs. Darcy happy ending. He does rescue her from some provincial persecution only to die a hero's death (he preferred it that way anyway, I think. ) (ennea 4 again, we dread living a long boring life.)

The story kind of peters out gently and sweetly in maternal devotion and eventually ecclesiastical servitude.

I didn't really touch on the fascinating perspective of feudal hierarchies in Norway, the amazing descriptions of farm life, nature imagery, and the presence of fantastic side characters who are like people you absolutely have known, but if you are so inclined after this ramble, then you are in for a treat.