I'm not worthy to be moderator of this forum. Everyone seems to know more than me.
Well, the writer and poet who I wish to name is a man I have mentioned on a handful of occasions; I somewhat feel on a personal crusade to expose his gifts to others.
Nor must I forget to thank the bluebottle for its share in this midsummer trance; it was so blue that the sunshine made it glint green, and the joyful note of earthly life vibrated ceaselessly in its well-tuned string.
This is a passage from one of his books, The Fish Can Sing.
The early twentieth century, centred in and around Reykjavik; that is the setting. Or to be more specific, a small cottage replete with a mid-loft, which stands opposite of a church and graveyard.
At this cottage, a young boy lives with the people he "calls" grandmother and grandfather. His existence doesn't extent far beyond these borders, in his youth he would set out on fishing expeditions with his grandfather.
What is to happen upon the return of a man to such a place as this, his old home, a world singer who has travelled all over the world?
Halldor Laxness is the man from his country [Iceland] to of claimed a Nobel Prize, for another of his work, Independent People,
which concerns a sheep farmer who is so obsessed with attaining his ideal of true independence, that he will pursue it, even to his own detriment.
I've never encountered prose which is so beautiful.
Guys, I will write down the names of the titles and responsible authors you've gave mention to. I will seek to see whether our local library branches hold any in their possession.