When I am asked what author I recommend to thoughtful teen readers of the male persuasion, I don't blink. Per Petterson, I say. It doesn't get much better, in general, than a Per Petterson book. And with his often adolescent male protagonists, his compelling Norwegian landscapes, his deliberate lonesomeness, his inclination to tell the truth about how growing up feels, Petterson speaks especially well to young, literary-minded male readers.
Out Stealing Horses ranks as one of my favorite novels of all time.
It's Fine By Me, Petterson's newest (translated by Don Bartlett) is equally strong—a coming-of-age tale about a working-class teen who won't remove his sunglasses when he steps into his new school and doesn't want the world to know, well, anything at all about him. Audun Sletten stands on the outside, brooding. He wrestles with his own story (a drunken father, a dead brother, a sister he loves, a girl he might like) discontinuously. He makes a friend despite himself, yields a little because he has to, wants to protect his family but sometimes anger is all he has, all he is. Anger and the Norwegian landscape, the white winters, the bracing lakes, the one or two teachers who notice, the men at the printing plant where he ultimately works, that best friend again—wry and helpful.
The world recedes when I read Petterson. I find his intelligence essential. I talk about crossover books—YA to A. But may the tide reverse and may Petterson's work cross into high school classrooms and become standard reading fare not just for adults but for teens.
A passage:
And I don't see any animals, but long Lake Elvaga is glittering in the sunshine. About halfway, I stop and slide down and sit on the slope by the bank. It is fine and open here, and the trees are naked. I take out the roll-up and a little notebook I like to think is similar to the one that Hemingway used in the Twenties in his Paris book, A Moveable Feast. I light the cigarette and try to do what he did: write one true sentence. I try several, but they don't amount to any more than what Arvid calls purple prose. I give it another go, and I try to get down on the paper the expression on Dole's face when I dragged him by the leg across the floor of Geir's bar. It's better, but not very good.
John Jensen Feels Different
By Henrik Hovland
Illustrated by Torill Kove
Translated by Don Bartlett
Eerdmans Books for Young Readers
$16.00
ISBN: 978-0-8028-5399-8
For ages 4-8
On shelves now
There is a lot to be said for a picture book book that is so unapologetically Norwegian that it ends up making you completely (not to mention unexpectedly) love it, regionalism and all. If you’ve ever encountered a large quantity of picture books from countries other than your own then you’ll know that tone is everything. Books in America tend to a have a distinctive flavor while books from other nations have another. Sometimes (often?) the two flavors don’t mix but once in a great while you end up with something like John Jensen Feels Different and everything’s okay again. A recent import, the book tackles the familiar theme of it’s-okay-to-be-different and gives it a bit of a twist. Understated and sly it’s a unique kind of book about a unique kind of guy. Funny and unfamiliar all at once, this is one case where the packaging matches the product.
John Jensen. He feels different. He feels it at home, on the bus, and at work. As we watch this perfectly amiable alligator (crocodile?) navigates through the realistic world of humans, holding down a good job as a tax consultant, we see him struggle with the idea. After much thought John decides that it’s his tail that makes him so very different from other people. Yet an attempt to tape it to his body only turns to pain when he sprains it after an accident. At the hospital he makes the acquaintance of Dr. Field (a nice elephant) who gives John the inspiring words he needs to stop being silly about his tail/who he is and to get on with his life.
I love the deadpan humor of it all. In fact the visual gags are such a perfect complement to the text that I was surprised to find that the author and illustrator weren’t one and the same. They must have consulted with one another heavily when creating the book. For example, I loved how artist Torill Kove portrayed John as a slightly sheepish reptilian office mate. There’s a great moment when he looks at a picture of fellow alligators, all of whom are his identical match, and he thinks, “Maybe I was adopted” followed by the book’s comment that “He doesn’t seem to look like anyone else in his family.” There were other little sly moments as well. I love that Dr. Field wears red sneakers. And I thought the endpapers were particularly keen. At the front of the book is the beginning of John tying his customary red bow tie and at the back is the rest of the process. It’s practically step by step.
Then there’s the story itself. This is one of those books where the child readers squeal in frustration at the hero’s seeming stupidity. As John tries to figure out why exactly he’s different you can practically channel the voices of five-year-olds across the globe that scream, “He’s an alligator!!!” Of course, by not mentioning that John is an alligator (or is he a crocodile?) the book becomes an easy metaphor. By the way, the translation of the book is by one Don Bartlett. Let
I love Per Petterson too, especially Out Stealing Horses. It's wonderful to see a teen hero wrestling with a perfect sentence, but I wish he weren't smoking. By all means, strive to write like Hemingway but don't act like him!
Thanks for the introduction, Beth.