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Medlemmar	Recensioner	Popularitet	Genomsnittligt betyg	Omnämnanden
3,598	273	3,516	(4.01)	371
Först begrep jag inte varför de stod där, män och kvinnor, allihop gloende och orörliga. Sedan förstod jag att det var mig de stirrade på. Jag förstod att de där människorna inte såg mig. Jag var två döda män. Jag var en brinnande gård. Jag var en kniv. Jag var blod. Norra Island 1829. Pigan Agnes Magnúsdóttir, dödsdömd för sin medverkan i ett brutalt dubbelmord, inhyses på den avsides belägna gården Kornsà i väntan på avrättning. Av rädsla och avsky undviker familjen först all kontakt med Agnes. Men snart väcks frågor och tvivel, kanske är hon inte det kallblodiga monster hon utmålats som. Till allas förvåning väljer Agnes den unge, oerfarne prästen Tóti till sin själasörjare. Efterhand får han den bittra, ordknappa Agnes att öppna sig och avslöja sin roll vid dråpet på Natan Ketilsson, hennes husbonde och svekfulle älskare. Men hur kan hon undkomma ett öde som avgörs av andras fördomsfulla föreställningar? En mörderska bland oss är en historisk roman med verklighetsbakgrund, som utspelar sig på ett kargt och kärvt Island, och Hannah Kents kristallklara prosa är ett mörkt kärleksbrev till landet. en fascinerande blandning av fakta och fiktion ... berör in i hjärtat. Agnes kommer att vara med dig långt efter att sista bladet vänts. daily express. [Publit]… (mer)

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LTSandboxPelican, JoeB1934, blssdlullaby, skatie8991, Margaret09, Jackie9, SiannaSue, Irinna55, Shelleyaaltman, JFBCore

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100
Undrens tid av Geraldine Brooks (Mopsy)
50
Alias Grace av Margaret Atwood (BookshelfMonstrosity)
BookshelfMonstrosity: The Polished Hoe portrays conditions in 20th-century Jamaica, while Burial Rites focuses on 19th-century Iceland, but these exquisitely detailed literary historical novels explore the lives of unusually intelligent women whose treatment by their masters has resulted in terrible crimes.… (mer)
20
Slammerkin av Emma Donoghue (BookshelfMonstrosity)
BookshelfMonstrosity: Although Slammerkin is more suspenseful and richly detailed than the spare, reflective Burial Rites, both character-driven historical novels draw upon true stories of young women accused of murder. Emphasis on the protagonists' impoverished backgrounds allows for exploration of social issues.… (mer)
00
Skugga-Baldur : en folksaga av Sjón (tandah)
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En förförd kvinnas besatthet av Susan Fromberg Schaeffer (Bookmarque)
Bookmarque: Another woman named Agnes, murder and the vulnerabilities created by love.
00
Gråmossan glöder av Thor Vilhjalmsson (bluepiano)
bluepiano: Another novel about murder in 19th-century Iceland that's based on a real case.
00
Achtendertig nachten av Janne IJmker (Blogletter)
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Fria män av Halldór Laxness (GerrysBookshelf)
00
The Convictions of John Delahunt av Andrew Hughes (BookshelfMonstrosity)
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Vikten av vatten av Anita Shreve (vwinsloe)
vwinsloe: 19th Century murderess in a cold, bleak location.
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The Witchfinder's Sister av Beth Underdown (sturlington)
00
Ett dockhem av Henrik Ibsen (lucy.depalma)
01
Fyren mellan haven : roman av M. L. Stedman (KimarieBee)

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engelska (267) franska (2) spanska (1) tyska (1) italienska (1) nederländska (1) Alla språk (273)

datum ▼ | röster

Visa 1-5 av 273 (nästa | visa alla)

You know who did what form the beginning, basically,but the poetic writing, and the unfolding of the story behind the murder still hold interest and the characterization and heartfelt, complex interactions between the characters make it well worthwhile (

)

cspiwak | Mar 6, 2024 |

The best novels transport us to new and unfamiliar places and experiences. Grim, cold, though ultimately warm, and relentlessly brutal, this is one of those novels. I'm looking forward to my next encounter with Hannah Kent. (

)

simonpockley | Feb 25, 2024 |

Book, I'm breaking up with you. This shouldn't hurt you too much, you have lots of other conquests under your belt, but you're not right for me. The way you were described sounded intriguing, but unfortunately things went poorly from the start, when you came in all romance novel like.

"Hello, young lady." The man looked down at Steina and her filthy skirts with an air of bemusement. "I see I have interrupted you at your chores."...
Blondal slowly rose to his full height. "I have no choice," he said, his voice suddenly low and dangerous. "Your father's title comes with responsibility."

And I don't mind a slow courtship most of the time, but the way you took 100 pages to establish that people in this narrow minded place don't like loose women and "murderesses", a word I could go the rest of my life without ever hearing again following your frequent use of it, without bringing up anything very interesting, didn't establish a reason to overcome my misgivings.

And of course everyone has quirks, but there is one of yours that really bugged me, I must admit. The way you repeatedly began lines of dialogue with a two word sentence consisting of [person's name] [action]. These examples taken from a short conversation covering pages 111-113 will serve to demonstrate what I mean:

"Margret hesitated."
"Ingibjorg sighed."
"Ingibjorg smiled."
"Ingibjorg paused."
"Ingibjorg nodded."
"Margret winced."
"Ingibjorg laughed."
"Margret tittered."
"Margret snorted."

I'm sorry, it's like nails down a chalkboard for me. I just can't do it. I'm moving on with my life. (

)

lelandleslie | Feb 24, 2024 |

Desolate, expressive, and solemn. I listened to this on audiobook and felt like I was there in Iceland seeing this all in person. Beautiful but in the most wrenching sort of way. (

)

deborahee | Feb 23, 2024 |

I'm giving this a somewhat reluctant three. It was a little difficult for me to get into the book with the Icelandic names so at the suggestion of a friend I downloaded the audio -- great suggestion!

I finally got into the swing and rhythm of the book about a third of the way through. I appreciated the writing and the mood but was mostly bored by the plot. Some of the scenes involving dreams confused me more than adding something good. I didn't care much for any of the characters but I wanted to. I felt as if I was teased a bit -- just starting to care about them or understand them and then we didn't hear a thing about them again. (I'm thinking about the daughters here and Toti.)

For reasons I can't explain I was surprised by the ending and even MORE surprised by the epilogue. Once I read the epilogue and realized how much of what I read was true, I liked the book quite a bit more. The things that were unsatisfying were easier for me to accept when I understood that they were fact and not decisions made by the author. (

)

hmonkeyreads | Jan 25, 2024 |

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Visa 1-5 av 273 (nästa | visa alla)

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thingScore 77

One of the best “Scandinavian” crime novels I have read, Burial Rites is the work of an Australian who visited Iceland on a cultural exchange.

tillagd av hf22 | ändraThe Independent (London), Jane Jakeman (Oct 29, 2013)

The novel isn't seamless—Ms. Kent disrupts its rhythms by awkwardly switching between an omniscient narrator and Agnes's first-person point of view. But it convincingly animates Agnes, who feels "knifed to the hilt with fate," showing her headstrong humanity and heart-wrenching thirst for life. At one point she recalls seeing two icebergs grinding together off the northern shore, the friction from their exposed boulders causing gathered driftwood to go up in flames. At her best, Ms. Kent achieves a similar eerie force in this story of passion in a frozen place.

tillagd av hf22 | ändraThe Wall Street Journal, Sam Sacks (Oct 25, 2013)

There are other stylistic problems. Some dialogue that’s meant to seem elevated and of its time simply sounds unidiomatic: “I was worried of as much”; “The only recourse to her absolution would be through prayer.” There’s prefab phrasing — “my heart throbbed,” “she said breathlessly,” “overcome with relief” — and descriptive clichés, including a sky that’s “bright, bright blue, so bright you could weep.”

tillagd av hf22 | ändraNew York Times, Steven Heighton (Sep 27, 2013)

A remarkable story of the last case of capital punishment recorded in Iceland, Burial Rites is the extraordinary debut novel by Australian author Hannah Kent.

tillagd av hf22 | ändraDaily Express (London), Hannah Britt (Sep 13, 2013)

Burial Rites is a debut of rare sophistication and beauty – a simple but moving story, meticulously researched and hauntingly told.

tillagd av hf22 | ändraThe Guardian, Lucy Scholes (Aug 25, 2013)

Although its setting — Iceland in 1829 — is strikingly unpromising, Hannah Kent’s Burial Rites is a remarkable achievement.

tillagd av hf22 | ändraThe Sunday Times (London), John Dugdale (betalvägg) (Aug 18, 2013)

Amidst an agrarian existence of bleak deprivation, the stories, whether Biblical or other, that characters tell themselves in Burial Rites are the meat they feed off; small but compelling pleasures they allow themselves.

tillagd av hf22 | ändraThe Adelaide Review, Tali Lavi (Jun 1, 2013)

Hannah Kent has a fine turn of phrase. It is this, more than anything, that makes Agnes Magnusdottir, the central figure in her debut novel, both elusive and captivating.

tillagd av hf22 | ändraSydney Morning Herald, Michael McGirr (May 25, 2013)

A major two-book deal with Pan Macmillan and some heavyweight PR means that most will read about Kent’s work before they read the novel itself, a pressure this competent debut could do without. Having started life as a verse novel, Burial Rites still bulges at its seams, descriptive lyricism occasionally spilling over into excess.

tillagd av hf22 | ändraThe Monthly (Australia), Alexandra Coghlan (May 1, 2013)

IT all started because she was a girl who had never seen snow. That lack, commonplace enough in an Australian childhood, took Hannah Kent to a desolate hillside in Iceland where, more than 170 years earlier, one woman's life came to a brutal end.

tillagd av hf22 | ändraThe Australian, Stephen Romei (Apr 20, 2013)

The author, who has researched with utmost scrupulousness this spare, disquieting first novel about the last execution to occur in Iceland, describes it as a “dark love letter” to the country. Dark it certainly is, with a sombre foreboding so thick it is almost tangible. ...Kent portrays the harsh existence of these rural, highly literate people with exactitude; and even the bleakness of Agnes’s end, its gut-churning fear, holds an exhilaration that borders on the sublime.

tillagd av hf22 | ändraThe Telegraph (London)

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Författarens namn	Roll	Typ av författare	Verk?	Status
Hannah Kent	—	primär författare	alla utgåvor	beräknat
Christie, Morven	Berättare	medförfattare	vissa utgåvor	bekräftat
Lubikowski, Martin	Cartographer.	medförfattare	vissa utgåvor	bekräftat
Reignier, Karen	Översättare	medförfattare	vissa utgåvor	bekräftat

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ALS Gold Medal (Finalister – 2014)

Australian Book Industry Awards (Vinnare – Finlitteratur – 2014)

Barry Award (Nominerad – Debutroman – 2014)

BookPeople Booksellers' Choice Award (Vinnare – 2014)

British Book Award (Finalister – International Author – 2014)

Davitt Award (Vinnare – Debut Novel – 2014)

Davitt Award (Nominerade – Adult Novel – 2014)

Dublin Literary Award (Finalister – 2015)

Guardian First Book Award (Finalister – 2013)

Inaugural Writing Australia Unpublished Manuscript Award (2011)

The Indie Book Award (Vinnare – Debut fiction – 2014)

Maine Readers' Choice Award (Nominerade – 2014)

NextReads Best Historical Fiction (2013)

Nib Literary Award (Finalister – 2013)

Stella Prize (Finalister – 2014)

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Waterstones 11 (2013)

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Burial Rites

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Första utgivningsdatum

2013-09-10

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Viktiga platser

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Iceland

Húnavatnssýsla, Iceland

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Last execution of capital punishment in Iceland (1830-12-1)

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Motto

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I was worst to the one I loved best.

Laxdæla Saga

Dedikation

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For my parents

Inledande ord

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They said I must die.

Citat

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His hair is as red as before, as red as the midnight sun. It looks as though his locks have soaked up the light as a skein of wool suffers the dye.

"Do you know the right name for a flock of ravens?"
Tóti shook his head.
"A conspiracy, Reverend. A conspiracy."

A tight fear, like a fishing line, hooked upon something that must, inevitably, be dragged from the depths.

Yes, I am quite alone, and a tremble of exhilaration passes along my skin, like the tremor on the surface of a pot of water about to boil.

At Hvammur, during the trial, they plucked at my words like birds. Dreadful birds, dressing in red with breasts of silver buttons, and cocked heads and sharp mouths, looking for guilt like berries on a bush.

(visa alla 29)

After the trial, the priest from Tjörn told me that I would burn if I did not cast my mind back over the sin of my life and pray for forgiveness. As though prayer could simply pluck sin out. But any woman knows that a thread, once woven, is fixed in place; the only way to smooth a mistake is to let it all unravel.

I feel drunk with summer and sunlight. I want to seize fistfuls of sky and eat them. As the scythes run sharp fingers through the stalks, the cut grass makes a gasping sound.

"That's what happened to my mother, Reverend," Agnes continued. "Who was she really? Probably not as people say she was, but she made mistakes and others made up their minds about her. People around here don't let you forget your misdeeds. They think them the only things worth writing down."

If he wants to learn of my family he'll have a hard time of it. Two fathers and a mother who seem as blurry to me as strangers departing through a snowstorm.

It's a silent memory, and one, like the others, I can't quite trust. Memories shift like loose snow in a wind, or are a chorale of ghosts all talking over one another. There is only ever a sense that what is real to me is not real to others, and to share a memory with someone is to risk sullying my belief in what has truly happened.

Did my mother look down at her baby daughter and think: "One day I will leave you?" Did she look at my scrunched face, hoping I would die, or did she silently urge me to stick to life like a burr? Perhaps she looked out to the valley, into the mist and stillness, and wondered what she could give me. A lie for a father. A head of dark hair. A hayrack to sleep in. A kiss. A stone, so that I might learn to understand the birds and never be lonely.

"In here," she said, "I can turn to that day as though it were a page in a book. It's written so deeply upon my mind I can almost taste the ink."

two women were spreading clothes out to dry in what slender sun the day afforded.

In those early visits it was as though we were building something sacred. We'd place words carefully together, piling them upon one another, leaving no spaces.

Then there was the first touch of skin on skin, and that was the gunshot, the freefall.

I craved his weight, then.

I arched my neck until my face was wet with the drifting damp.

He groaned and the sound lingered in the air like a cloud of ash over a volcano.

I felt too much to see it for what it was.

When everything froze we met in the storeroom, with a constellation of drying meat above our heads.

I remember feeling too full with blood.

For the first time in my life, someone saw me, and I loved him because he made me feel I was enough.

All those weeks, all those nights, I was rotted through with hunger.

All that willpower to contain that which I wanted to cry into the wind, and scratch into the dirt, and burn into the grass.

He would haul me out of the valley, out of the husk of my miserable, loveless life, and everything would be new.

I could even see the west fjords over the gray swell of water. Like a shadow of themselves.

I learnt later that he was as changeable as the ocean, and God help you if you saw his expression shift and darken.

But the hours crept past like the guilty and midnight came and went, and still he did not come inside.

Only the wind speaks and it will not talk sense, it screams like the widow of the world and will not wait for a reply.

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Burial Rites

Hannah Kent

▾Bokbeskrivningar

Först begrep jag inte varför de stod där, män och kvinnor, allihop gloende och orörliga. Sedan förstod jag att det var mig de stirrade på. Jag förstod att de där människorna inte såg mig. Jag var två döda män. Jag var en brinnande gård. Jag var en kniv. Jag var blod. Norra Island 1829. Pigan Agnes Magnúsdóttir, dödsdömd för sin medverkan i ett brutalt dubbelmord, inhyses på den avsides belägna gården Kornsà i väntan på avrättning. Av rädsla och avsky undviker familjen först all kontakt med Agnes. Men snart väcks frågor och tvivel, kanske är hon inte det kallblodiga monster hon utmålats som. Till allas förvåning väljer Agnes den unge, oerfarne prästen Tóti till sin själasörjare. Efterhand får han den bittra, ordknappa Agnes att öppna sig och avslöja sin roll vid dråpet på Natan Ketilsson, hennes husbonde och svekfulle älskare. Men hur kan hon undkomma ett öde som avgörs av andras fördomsfulla föreställningar? En mörderska bland oss är en historisk roman med verklighetsbakgrund, som utspelar sig på ett kargt och kärvt Island, och Hannah Kents kristallklara prosa är ett mörkt kärleksbrev till landet. en fascinerande blandning av fakta och fiktion ... berör in i hjärtat. Agnes kommer att vara med dig långt efter att sista bladet vänts. daily express. [Publit]

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