The Wreath

I found the book to be very well written and easy to read even tough it's a classic from 1920's. It's a compelling story set in 1300 and it's was quite enjoyable.

Kristin was like something he had believed to be pure gold, but when he saw it up close, it was merely brass and tin.

In

The Wreath, a historical bildungsroman, Kristin Lavransdatter joins a long line of literary women—from Anna Karenina and Madame Bovary to Catherine Earnshaw and Mrs. de Winter—who make a series of absolutely terrible relationship decisions. She seemingly lacks all common sense and refuses to listen to the very good advice the other women (and men) in her life give her, and I can’t imagine that the next installment in this trilogy will be a happy one for Kristin. Erlend is almost a cliche, and Kristin is a fool for not seeing it when presented with such evidence as Eline…though it seems like, too late, the truth may be beginning to dawn on her.

Frustrating as Kristin is, she mostly makes for an interesting character (though she feels a bit simplistic in the beginning), and I do feel for her, especially given that she’s an extremely sheltered teenager never given the opportunity to process the traumatic things she experiences. There’s also double standard that their culture has when it comes to purity, with characters simultaneously horrified that Kristin may no longer be a maiden while accepting that it’s no surprise Erlend has had prior relationships—while his actions are still seen as shameful, they do not completely destroy his reputation in the way that Kristin risks. In fact, as a whole the insight into fourteenth-century Norwegian culture, both good and bad, is fascinating.

Undset clearly understands that Kristin is deeply flawed, as especially highlighted when the story shifts to Ranfrid or Lavran. Both of them are more complex characters, and therefore more intriguing. They truly want what’s best for their daughter, though Kristin doesn’t see it. Lavrans recognizes that the two of them are not a good match (

She is placid and compliant in temperament. One of the reasons that I bore in mind when I opposed the marriage was this: that Erlend has shown a certain imprudence in several areas. Had she been a domineering, bold, and headstrong woman, then the situation would have been quite different.”

)—his unwillingness to bless the marriage is borne out of love, not a patriarchal need to control. I feel absolutely terrible for both of them, who endure so much heartbreak and pain—but Ragnfrid in particular, who has lost so many children and who’s long felt unloved by her husband and now like she’s failed as a mother.

The novel itself feels a bit too much like a YA romance, both in plot and writing style, for my taste. That said, while the prose is nothing special, it’s easy reading with a handful of quite dramatic scenes, with Undset clearly thoughtful in her development of character and treatment of complex issues. I’ll definitely be reading on, though I think I’ll take a break between books.

Some favorite passages:

Directly opposite her, on the south wall of the nave, stood a picture that glowed as if it had been made from nothing but glittering gemstones. The multicolored specks of light on the wall came from rays emanating from the picture itself; she and the monk were standing in the midst of its radiance. Her hands were red, as if she had dipped them in wine; the monk’s face seemed to be completely gilded, and from his dark cowl the colors of the picture were dimly reflected. She gave him a questioning glance, but he merely nodded and smiled. It was like standing at a great distance and looking into heaven. Behind a lattice of black lines she began to distinguish, little by little, the Lord Jesus himself, wearing the costliest red cloak; the Virgin Mary in robes as blue as the sky; and the holy men and maidens in gleaming yellow and green and violet attire. They stood beneath the arches and pillars of illuminated houses surrounded by intertwining branches and twigs with extraordinary, bright leaves.

Dragons and all other creatures that serve the Devil only seem big as long as we harbor fear within ourselves. But if a person seeks God with such earnestness and desire that he enters into His power, then the power of the Devil at once suffers such a great defeat that his instruments become small and impotent. Dragons and evil spirits shrink until they are no bigger than goblins and cats and crows.

No one and nothing can harm us, child, except what we fear and love.”

“There is no one, Kristin, who does not love and fear God. But it’s because our hearts are divided between love for God and fear of the Devil, and love for this world and this flesh, that we are miserable in life and death.

For if a man knew no yearning for God and God’s being, then he would thrive in Hell, and we alone would not understand that he had found his heart’s desire. Then the fire would not burn him if he did not long for coolness, and he would not feel the pain of the serpent’s bite if he did not long for peace.

“God help you, Ragnfrid Ivarsdatter,” said Sira Eirik, shaking his head. “You want nothing more from all your prayers and fasting than to force your will on God. Does it surprise you, then, that it has accomplished so little good?”

It fell like a terrible burden upon her when she realized for the first time that people could have such different opinions about so many things. And not just evil, godless people disagreeing with good people, but also good people such as Brother Edvin and Sira Eirik—or her mother and father. She suddenly realized that they too thought differently about many things.

Outside, the courtyard was white and black in the moonlight. Ragnfrid accompanied them through the farmyard down to the gate near the cabbage garden. Kristin saw the thin silhouette of her mother leaning against the fence nearby. The child shook dew from the large, ice-cold cabbage leaves and from the folds of the lady’s-mantle into her father’s silver goblet.

“It’s good when you don’t dare do something that doesn’t seem right,” said Fru Aashild with a little laugh. “But it’s not so good if you think something isn’t right because you don’t dare do it.”

Sira Eirik himself said that they caused no one any harm, and as for Fru Aashild’s witchcraft, he was not her parish priest. It could be that the woman knew more than was good for the health of her soul—and yet one should not forget that ignorant people often spoke of witchcraft as soon as a woman showed herself to be wiser than the councilmen.

“We’ve always known, both you and I, that it would be futile for us to fall in love with each other.”

She saw the world as if in a vision: a dark room into which a beam of sunlight fell, with dust motes tumbling in and out, from darkness to light, and she felt that now she had finally moved into the sunbeam.

In the noonday sun there was a hot, spicy fragrance of dill and celery, onions and roses, southernwood and wallflowers.

And occasionally in church, and at other times as well, she would feel a fervent yearning to become part of it all, this community with God. It had always been part of her life, and now she stood outside with her unconfessed sin.

And if you think you are as good as married to this man, why don’t you wear the linen wimple instead of going around bareheaded among the young maidens, with whom you have so little in common now?

I wouldn’t care if they called me a paramour, if only I could be called his.”

She whimpered silently in fear at the inconstancy of her own heart and at the transitory nature of all things.

She felt no repentance, but she consoled herself with the thought that the day would come when she would have to pay dearly for everything they had taken in secret.

A door from the parlatory opened onto the herb garden, which lay beyond the buildings on the west side of the convent. The nun unlocked the door, and they stepped out into a fog so dense that they could see only a few steps in front of them amidst the trees. The closest trunks were black as coal; beads of moisture clung to every branch and twig. Small patches of new snow were melting on the wet soil, but beneath the bushes tiny white and yellow lilies had already sprouted flowers, and it smelled fresh and cool from the violet-grass.

He has lured you away from the counsel of all your kinsmen. Have you thought about what kind of husband you’ll have if you marry a man who took another man’s wife as his mistress? And now he wants to take as his wife another man’s betrothed.”

And she felt that now they were truly one flesh; she would have to answer for everything he did, even when she disliked his conduct, and she would feel it on her own hand when Erlend so much as scratched his skin.

“Don’t you see, Kristin? Sins like this ... God may forgive such sins more readily than many others, but they damage a lineage so severely that it can never be redeemed.

“You and I, Ragnfrid, we have observed all the fast days and have tried to live by God’s commandments in all things. And now it almost seems to me ... that we might have been happier if we had had more to regret.”

Ragnfrid crossed her thin arms over her withered breasts. Yes, God help her. What kind of woman was she? What kind of mother was she? She would soon be old. And yet she was just the same. She no longer begged the way she had when they were young, when she had threatened and raged against this man who closed himself off, shy and modest, when she grew ardent—who turned cold when she wanted to give him more than his husband’s right. That’s the way things were, and that’s how she had gotten with child, time after time—humiliated, furious with shame because she couldn’t be content with his lukewarm, married man’s love.

She had loved her children so much that it felt as though her heart were cut out of her each time she lost one of them.

On this moonlit night the whole world was white. Wave after wave of white mountains arched beneath the bluish, washed-out sky with few stars. Even the shadows cast across the snowy surfaces by rounded summits and crests seemed strangely light and airy, for the moon was sailing so high.

“Do you think he’ll treat you any better than he did me?” Eline continued.

At night the northern lights flickered and sputtered above the mountain ridges to the north; they flickered over half the sky, but they didn’t bring a change in the weather.

“Jesus Christus, little Kristin, are you so unhappy?” “I think I’m going to die from it, Father,” she said against his chest. She burst into tears. But she was crying because she had felt in his caress and seen in his eyes that now he was so worn out with anguish that he could no longer hold on to his opposition. She had won.

“I have often prayed that you might have a yearning for the convent life,” said Brother Edvin, “but not since you told me what you know. I wish that you could have come to God with your wreath, Kristin.”

A short way into the mountains west of the valley, there was a place with great white stones that were shaped like the secret parts of human beings, and some men had fallen to sacrificing boars and cats before this monstrosity.

“I’m thinking about all the people we have hurt so that we could live to see this day,” said Kristin, shivering.

The time will come soon enough when the two of you will have to pay for everything that you’ve taken—have no fear of that.”

“He wanted me and I wanted him, you wanted him and he wanted you,” said Eline. “I had to pay, and he must pay, and you must pay when your time comes. When the sin is consummated it will give birth to death.”

Kristin felt as though everything was so unfamiliar at home, and she had lost all sense of time; the hours and the images flowed around each other, oddly disconnected.

Lavrans slammed his fist against the lower timber of the outhouse. “I put you here to suffer ridicule and shame, you timber. I put you here so the muck would devour you. I put you here as punishment because you struck down my pretty little maiden. I should have put you above the door of my loft and honored and thanked you with decorative carvings because you saved her from shame and from sorrow—for you caused my Ulvhild to die an innocent child.”

Lavrans, who now seemed more clearheaded, replied, gasping, “Don’t you see? He now has complete power over her; this man who could never restrain himself. She will find it difficult to oppose anything that her husband wishes—and if she is forced to do so one day, then it will torment her bitterly, that gentle child of mine.

He had simply wanted to live with her without her always trying to seize what was in his heart—and what he refused to reveal.

His chest felt empty and hollow, like a man whose heart and lungs had been ripped out through his back.