A Holiday Break: The Wreath by Sigrid Undset

Books are always the best holiday gift for me. The only thing I like better than the anticipation of reading a long sought after title is the fondness that comes with remembering the discovery of an unexpected treasure.

As I look back on all the books I've profiled here in 2023, the one I'd most like to revisit is The Wreath by Sigrid Undset, which I blogged about only earlier this month. 

Here's how that post began:

This is the first of the three volumes in Undset’s Nobel prize winning novel, Kristin Lavransdatter. I’m not sure how I stumbled into Undset or her work -- I think I might have come across a reference in some biographical information I was reading about Willa Cather -- but however I came across it, I’m really glad I did. In the introduction that accompanied my volume of The Wreath, Tiina Nunnally provides this summary that speaks well to Undset’s power and ability.

Undset’s love of nature so permeated her world view that it became synonymous with the truth she sought to portray in her novels, the truth that her mother had enjoined her to write about. In a speech given during the 1940s she explained what she meant by a “true novel”:

“We often see the word “novel” defined as the opposite of “facts.” And of course those kinds of novels do exist. But even those types of novels do not necessarily have to be the opposite of “truth.” Facts may be true, but they are not truths -- just as wooden crates or fence posts or doors or furniture are not “wood” in the same way that a forest is, since it consists of the living and growing material from which these things are made. … The true novel, if you understand what I mean by that term, must also make use of facts, but above all it must be concerned with the truth that lies behind them -- the wild mountains that are the source of the “tame” cobblestones of the pavement or the artistically hewn stones in a work of sculpture; the living forest which provides timber for the sawmills and pulp for the billions of tons of paper which we use and misuse. Then these facts will be of secondary importance to the author … they are not original; they originate from something else.”

Sigrid Undset had a remarkable ability to see beyond the “facts,” to portray the lives of her characters in realistic fashion and yet with great psychological insight. She herself said that “to be a writer is to be able to live lives that are not one’s own.” In Kristin Lavransdatter, the meticulously researched details of medieval life provide a rich backdrop for the narrative. But for modern readers, the power of the novel lies not so much in the authenticity of detail as in the author’s deep understanding of the passions and torments of the human heart.

There is a lot to like here -- especially in the idea that novels (and Sigrid Undset novels, to be precise) contain truth even though they are, of course, made-up stories about made-up people. And not just any old truth, but deep psychological truths about the passions and torments of the human heart, truths that have the power to speak out across centuries and cultures.

As you enjoy your holiday break, I hope you find some time to curl up with a good book. I know I will.

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This post was written by Eric Lanke, an association executive, blogger and author. For more information, visit www.ericlanke.blogspot.com, follow him on Twitter @ericlanke or contact him at eric.lanke@gmail.com.