Translated by Bibbi Lee
Review by Karen Langley
Recent years have seen a spate of newly translated fictions being made available by Penguin Classics in their ‘Demy’ series; these works are presented in larger format with French flaps and lithographic printing. Some authors featured are already well known in translation, such as Yukio Mishima; however, one of the joys of the series is the fact that a number women authors not previously available in English are being made available to Anglophone readers. One of those is Torborg Nedreaas, a highly acclaimed Norwegian writer who is now being discovered outside her native country; and based on a recently released title, Nothing Grows by Moonlight, her reputation is well-deserved.
First published in 1947, the book opens with a strange, almost dreamlike sequence. One spring evening, a man is drawn to a woman he sees across a station platform. Not knowing quite why, he makes a connection with her, and she comes home with him to his apartment. Here, she simply wants to talk, and the narrator is happy to listen. So, over the space of one night, the unnamed woman tells the unnamed man the story of her life – one which is very dark and moving.
The woman grew up in a small town near a mine, and life there is harsh. The population is ground down by having to work themselves to death earning a living there; the woman’s father struggles with his health; her mother is judgemental and has no warmth left in her for her children. The woman and her sister have a miserable life, and so when she makes a connection with one of her teachers, she’s vulnerable and ready for exploitation.
At seventeen, the narrator is naïve and in need of love; therefore, any attention will inflate what is a passing fancy for her teacher into an obsessive passion, and the affair takes over her life. All around her are young people having relatively normal relationships, and generally having to get married fairly quickly because of unwanted pregnancies. The woman, however, only has eyes for Johannes, her teacher. Although what is happening between them has to be kept secret, they do manage to escape for a few days away together. Then the inevitable happens and has to be dealt with.
The woman leaves home and tries to make enough to live on, away from the mines. However, Johannes is elusive, and despite her fixation with him, he’s impossible to pin down. Alienated from her family, from those her own age and from the society in which she lives, the narrator’s life spirals out of control. She will abuse her own body many times, and the outlook is not good.
The world has been built crookedly with some kind of arrangement that makes lots of people into hunted animals and a few people so swimmingly well off they can’t understand why everybody else isn’t happy for them and willing to be beaten to death for their purpose. I think even that is violating life. Nature didn’t mean for things to be that way. Nature has enough for everybody. There is something wrong somewhere because on this whole earth there’s enough of everything, for everyone.
Nothing Grows… is a stark story, and the world it captures is brutal. The lives of the women in this small town are bound by convention, and a running theme for Nedreaas is the hypocrisy the narrator encounters. A child born in wedlock is welcomed and loved; one conceived out of wedlock is despised and, if born, ruins the life of its mother and in fact the child itself. The normal action, therefore, is abortion, of whatever type can be obtained; indeed, the book covers the various actions the women take (vigorous exercise, jumping off the top of sheds) to try to bring one on naturally. The narrator rails against this societal attitude, and indeed the gossip and the whispering which goes on behind twitching curtains and closed doors. It’s clear she longs to be able to keep a child, but with Johannes, his position and his lack of commitment, that would never be possible.
As well as the horrendous pressures on the women of the community, the narrator has plenty to say about the crushing conditions of those who work in the mines. The divide between those who have and those who have not is stark, and Nedreaas’ communist sympathies are clearly on display. The narrator’s views put her on the outside of her society, and despite her love for Johannes, perhaps her strongest link is with the church organist Morck. A troubled outcast himself, his occasional kindness makes a huge difference to her and his music opens out her soul a little. His history and fate are tragic, the source of his sorrow hinted at rather than spelled out, and it’s clear that this is a society where, if you don’t fit in, you have no chance at all.
The framing device of the story is a clever one; the man is drawn to the women, somehow intrigued by her, but we learn little about him. His role is to provide drink and cigarettes, and a listening ear; there’s the sense that it’s extremely important to the woman to be able to tell her story to someone, and the reason for that perhaps becomes clearer towards the end of the book. Certainly, this is a night the man will never forget.
Nothing Grows by Moonlight is a powerful and important testament to the difficulties of women’s lives during the 20th century, and the built-in political commentary about the financial inequalities of the world adds a sobering additional element. This is a polemical novel, and all the stronger for it. The story is harsh and brutal in many places, with the women having to endure physical and emotional horrors; and no real solution is offered. As far as I’m aware, this is the first of Nedreaas’s works to be translated into English, and on the strength of it I can only hope that more of her writing is made available internationally – her uncompromising stance and striking prose is invigorating and unforgettable.
Karen Langley blogs at kaggsysbookishramblings and thinks translators make the world a better place (www.kaggsysbookishramblings.wordpress.com)
Torborg Nedreaas, Nothing Grows by Moonlight (Penguin, 2025). 978-0241729663, 208pp., paperback.
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This sounds like a powerful read. That unflinching look at women’s lives in that place and at that time sounds like a memorable exploration of the times. I’m glad that there are publishers who are making some of those hitherto-untranslated works available to more audiences.
It is, Margot. The life these women were living was a bleak and harsh one, and it makes for unforgettable reading. So glad this one has been issued.