I wasn’t prepared for the rollercoaster that this first book of the Olav series took me on. The writing did not disappoint, and the relationships, culture, and geography of 13th century Norway was brought to life. This novel followed the growing up of Ingunn and Olav, their challenges and separation, and what happens as a result of the choices along the way. A really gripping story!

Highly recommended!

Tiina Nunnally, whose lauded translation of the epic KRISTIN LAVRANSDOTTER trilogy in the 90s helped to revive widespread interest in Norwegian Nobel Prize-winning author Sigrid Undset, publishes the final installment in Undset’s subsequent Medieval OLAV AUDUNSSØN tetralogy, entitled WINTER. Undset’s own favorite among her works, this weighty saga transports readers to 13th Century Norway where clannish Old Norse traditions vie with newly ascendant Church doctrines, nowhere more poignantly than in the lifelong moral struggles of Olav Audunssøn. Betrothed in his youth to his adoptive sister Ingunn in the first installment, VOWS, Olav’s fated and impetuously consummated marriage unleashes a tumultuous chain of trials, betrayals and violence, with consequences destined to outlive their marriage. His happiness achieved at long last, Olav ultimately reaps the whirlwind in book two, PROVIDENCE, followed by CROSSROADS which delves into our anti-hero’s dark night of the soul, as he reckons up his sins, and falteringly seeks to set his own children on a better path. Having been roused to bloody combat with invaders from the North, in WINTER Olav enters his final season facing one battle which he can never win, as he strives for a grace that cannot be grasped, but only received with open hands from a merciful God. Brushing away the cobwebs of the slightly fusty, century-old British version, Nunnally’s straightforward, unadorned telling makes for smooth reading, no small thing in an epic tetralogy that stretches to well over 1,000 pages. Inspired by the dire, fatalistic mores of the Norse sagas and Undset’s own devout Catholicism, the tetralogy’s towering achievement is made less forbidding in Nunnally’s welcome new translation, which is very much in keeping with Sigrid Undset’s project of de-romanticizing the past, resulting in a vivid, painstakingly researched historic recreation less akin to the lush swashbuckling of Dumas or Scott, than to the harsh, immersive naturalism of Zola.

It was okay. Altogether I found the setting fascinating. The reader gets to learn about the everyday life, customs, cultures and laws. The writing is beautiful and you get a good sense of the time period, but I struggled with the pacing and found myself bored after 30%. We follow Ingunn and Olav and their goal to marry. They find lots of stones in their path and I found myself wanting them just to get on with it.
There's lots of back and forth and the story felt like it was stalling.
I can recommend this to anybody who likes "hard-core" historical fiction, but beware about a slower pacing and plot.
I don't believe I'll be continuing on with this particular series.

Thank you Netgalley for providing me with a free copy in advance for an honest review.

Beautiful story of love, suffering and the struggle of forgiveness. I read the new translation by Tiina Nunnally and I agree with reviewers that the book captures the poetry of language in describing the Norwegian landscape, medieval times, and a powerful love story. I especially liked how Undset divides the book into a section of Olav Audunsson's life and his point of view and Ingunn Steinfinnsdatter's story when Olav is away. This is a heroic story of faith and belief in the vows one makes and trust in God's will and mercy. I can't wait to read the rest of the series!

This book was written so long ago, and the Norwegian setting was so lovely. I didn’t enjoy this one as much as I hoped, it was hard to get through at points. But deeper than just the words, the author painted a picture of humanity, our depravity as humans, and how our choices have a domino effect on our lives. There was still redemption for a lot of what happened in the story, but the story itself was just very back and forth and lacked a few things I think? I don’t know haha! And I think i was thinking it was going to flow better but that could be a translation thing too. It was just ok- I wasn’t wowed by the story but also appreciated the aspects of life the author was conveying beneath the story.

I previously read Kristin Lavrandatter, a trilogy set in medieval Norway written between 1922 and 1924, and thoroughly enjoyed it. The Master of Hestviken is a tetrology (4 volumes) written between 1925 and 1927. Undset won the Nobel prize for literature in 1928.

MoH seems darker to me with more personal anguish, "psychologically and romantically nuanced." It meticulously recreates the Norwegian world split between pagan coldes of retribution and Christian piety. Law is a new invention. Heavy but compelling.

It's been almost two years since the rich, profound, and unsettling experience of reading Kristin Lavransdatter, so I thought I was emotionally ready to read another Sigrid Undset saga.

Apparently I still can't read Sigrid Undset slowly and moderately, and I still can't prevent myself from reading late into the night, beginning another chapter again and again, but perhaps that's just how things are going to be with this author.

Undset herself judged The Master of Hestviken tetralogy the finer work than her earlier trilogy (so says inside flap of my library dustjacket), and although I'm not yet sure I agree, I've found this a compelling idea to ponder as I've read.

Less rambling and with a tighter plot than KL, Book 1, The Axe, has two focal points, the hero and heroine pair who were raised as foster siblings, betrothed as children, and now try formalize their marriage and navigate the adult world as it crumbles around them. This dual approach works very successfully, and it makes for quite a different narrative than KL, which is so singly focused on its titular character. (One of the most heartrending aspects of the trilogy is how psychologically distant Kristin's husband typically is, both from her and from the reader. We see half the story from the husband's perspective in The Axe, so that particular anguish isn't part of this story.) The book is divided into two halves, the first named for Olav and the second for Ingunn, and Undset thereby prompts us to consider parallels between the two of them: how their own situations, sufferings, and sins echo, reinforce, and counterbalance each other.

The thing I find most thrilling about a Sigrid Undset novel is her portrayal of the Church. She doesn't present it as a wholly blameless institution, but she does paint a picture of a living, active, vibrant, exquisitely beautiful Christendom, a community ready and equipped to come alongside those who suffer and to offer life-giving physical, emotional, and spiritual aid. I also love the way her characters grapple with the implications of their faith rather than with the question of faith itself -- which I suppose might be a more catholic than protestant approach -- not "do I believe???" but "of course I believe...so what does this mean for the situation I find myself in?" For charting the strange and surprising paths of spiritual growth in minute and poignant detail, I find Sigrid Undset absolutely sui generis.

3★
“And as he grew, so did his love for the only one he felt was truly his possession and his destiny, though he barely noticed this himself. His affection for her was a matter of habit, long before his love acquired enough radiance and color that he became aware of how it had filled him. That was how things stood until the summer after Olav Audunssøn had turned sixteen in the spring. Ingunn was then fifteen winters old.”

I admit I expected something special from an author who won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1928 when the author was 36. I believe the translator is also an award-winning translator, so that just whetted my appetite. This was first published in 1925, the first of a four-part saga about The Master of Hestviken.

I’m sorry I don’t read Norwegian, so I have no idea how good the translation is. I found the style uneven and wooden. Too much of it sounded more like a newspaper report than a novel.

“And when the marriage ale celebration was held at Frettastein for Haakon Gautssøn and Tora Steinfinnsdatter a short time before Advent, no one from Miklebø attended. The wedding then took place just after New Year’s in 1282, and afterward the newly married couple traveled around to visit the young wife’s kinsmen, for Haakon was the youngest son of many brothers and therefore had no estate of his own in Vestlandet.”

A minor quibble, for example, is that the word “folks” was used constantly when “people” or “folk” would have sounded more appropriate. As it was, the phrasing sounded weirdly modern, but I think that’s probably the translation, not the original text.

“And if they agree with the arrangement that was made by their parents, nothing more needs to be done; they can live together as married folks.”

It's the story of two children, a daughter and a foster son who are raised together after being betrothed by both their fathers to be wed when they reach marriageable age. Ingunn and Olav are the boy and girl, both of whom are nice enough characters. There is plenty of background and history to fill us in on life in Scandinavia in the 1200s. It was cold and harsh.

There was also great beauty – of course!

“Big clouds drifted across the sky, casting shadows that turned the forest land below a dark blue, with spaces of green meadow and white fields gleaming brightly in between. And the fjord was gray with shiny dark currents on the surface that reflected slivers of the autumn landscape. Occasionally the sun would come out, and the sharp golden light would sting their eyes and bring a blazing heat, but as soon as a cloud moved in front, the sun’s warmth would quickly disappear. And the ground was cold and raw.”

That’s what I mean by uneven. Just as I would get bogged down in a rather dull recitation of facts, there would be a lyrical interlude into someone’s thoughts and imagination. I did enjoy the historical aspects – the lifestyle, the beds, where people lay side by side to visit and chat privately but innocently. There isn’t a lot about everyday life, though, as there is in some historical novels. Perhaps that’s a more modern addition, now that research is so much easier.

The children are fast friends, and as they hit their teens (in the introductory quotation) they are beginning to see each other differently. Olav realises – quite suddenly – that ingunn holds a strong attraction for him in ways that were completely new to him.

The marriage laws, the relationships, the alliances, the promises, these are all the same stuff of the royal families of Europe, but this is Norway in the 1200s. The characters represent different families – almost tribes, if you will – and the links between allies or the conflict between enemies, rule everything.

I was interested in how men (I think it was always and only men) were able to atone for their killings by paying some kind of fine, if it was acceptable to the family who had been wronged.

I was also interested in the wearing of the wimple by married women, who were required to hide their hair, much as other cultures demand. At one point, Ingunn has worn a wimple for 18 months, as she and Olav are considered ‘married’, but later, someone says well, no, you aren’t really, so take it off and let your hair down. She feels almost denuded and insists on braiding/plaiting her hair severely rather than let it flow beautifully.

[It fascinates me how people today criticise cultures where women cover their hair although their own cultures probably fostered similar restrictions in the past. Consider nuns, for example. But I digress.]

The young couple is together, thwarted, separated, reunited, separated . . . and you’ll have to read it to find out. There is romance for romance lovers and there is a bit of action and history. I read to the end, really just to see if there was a cliffhanger, but I found it too uneven to consider pursing any further volumes.

Thanks to NetGalley and University of Minnesota Press for the copy for review.

This is my second Undset after reading the Kristen Lavransdatter trilogy last year. I've read it to close out the year. It's 4PM on new year's eve and tomorrow we start the Trilogy of Memory. In truth, it was a filler but I tried some modern novels and I just couldn't see wasting three days. A friend had mentioned Undset, and I thought, "oh, a quick download." As it was I risked getting caught up in the wrong trilogy! No one describes nature-the beauty of the mountains and the passing of the seasons like Sigrid Undset, and no one picks apart what goes on in our souls better than she does.
Autumn:

"Great clouds drifted across the sky, throwing shadows that turned the forests dark blue—the patches of green meadow and white cornfield showed up so strongly between. And the fiord was grey with smooth dark currents farther out, which reflected scraps of the autumnal land. Now and again the sun came out, and its sharp, golden light baked them—but the next moment a cloud came by and the warmth was gone—and the ground was bleak."

Early Spring:

The soil was almost bare here in the grove, brown and bleak, but the sun on the rocks was warm—fair-weather clouds drifted high up in the silky blue sky. But the bay, of which she could see a glimpse between the naked white birch-trunks, was still covered with rotten, thawing ice, and on the far shore the snow still glared white among the woods, right down to the beach. Here on the sunny side there was a trickling and gurgling of water everywhere, but the thaw had not yet given its full roar to the voice of spring.

It is well there is a book called The Art of Compassion: A Biography of Sigrid Undset(tbr.) Undset's compassion drips like an icicle in spring and it shines on every one of her pages. Her compassion to lay bare what goes on in our souls - that deep dark place where we have so little personal access-and in others no access at all. This must be why we read.

Growing up a Catholic, sin, guilt, and fear of getting caught were all we knew of morality. This was in the 50's when the means to subdue our conscience, shield our guilt, and evade our consequences were being invented-I am of the generation that succeeded in this. When I read The Axe and I turn my thoughts back to the 1200's, I think about the church-dominated Nordic Middle Ages. I think about the small manors and farmstead’s where everybody knows everything and every transgression is noted, retold and magnified 10 fold.

In that time, other than murder, there was perhaps no greater sin, nothing more impossible to hide, nothing more difficult to cover up, more impossible to escape the consequences of than a pregnancy out of wedlock. This was a picture in black-and-white: whatever light hopes and dreams and goodness the woman may have held, it would be covered by the blackness of the sin they had committed. For the woman, there was a swelling writ large of her sin. There was the crushing of her dreams and hopes for herself, the removal of anything that says what she deserved and with it came animosity by everyone who knew anything about her. They saw her weakness, they saw her faults and her sin. And every day the sign, which advertised her sin to her world, grew larger.

This is how we start a dynasty and an epic Sigrid Undset tetralogy. It will certainly be an epic burden to overcome.

P.S. Being such a natural act, how often must this have happened in the last 1000 years? And every time it happened the consequences fell on the woman. And this, except for a handful of decades, continues.

Sanctimonious men, denigrating women. Religion crammed down the throats of the people. Guilt, recrimination, no recourse to birth control. Then I turned off the TV and finished this book.

My daughter and I have a term for a certain genre of movie that could be seen and understood as either tragedy or comedy. It's Nordic humor. In literature this appears in such novels as Jane Smiley's The Greenlanders and in Halldor Lexness Independent People. Olav Audunsson and Kristin Lavransdatter are very lean as far as humor but there is still adequate contrast to enable the reader to avoid frequent tears. I loved reading about Kristin's very long and winding life so was not surprised or put off by the peculiarities of this new translation of an old book by an award winning author. If I will be looking forward to reading the remaining volumes as they are translated. It may be a good idea to try a sample before making a commitment. to this book.

Deliberately paced, but still a good read

Sigrid Undset's first volume of "The Master of Hestviken" is a very interesting book to read. It is not as fast paced as are most modern novels, but neither is it as slow as some eighteenth century novels such as Richardson's "Clarrissa." It is more deliberately paced. Undset, who died in 1949, had a reputation very very thoroughly researching the background of her novels and the way people actually lived during, in this case, late thirteenth century Norway. However, the Kindle edition does not provide any information about what her sources were. The plot of volume I does not add much to the literary canon. Two small children are betrothed to each other at the ages of seven and eight. They sleep together at fifteen and sixteen, which, under Roman Catholic Church law at the time made them legally married at a time when civil divorce does not exist and ecclesiastical annulments were very hard to get unless one was of royal blood. Various obstacles are thrown in the couples way before they can get together at the end. The most interesting parts of the novel are the descriptions of life and the code of family honor in Norway of the period. Nothing new plotwise but still worth the read.