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Two stars, largely due to general confusion throughout. I feel like I have to think more about this one and see if things come to make sense... or if this is just a confusing jumble.

Recommended: not really
Stay away if you want a point to the story, if you want clear reactions and reasons for things, if you want more than rambling conversations. Take it on if you have a group of people to discuss it with, maybe with one who's from Iceland, or if you want to have a kind of literary puzzle to decipher.

Thoughts:
I went into this with and entirely different expectation of what I would find, which jarred me a bit in the first few pages. Going through this, my overall impression is that the writing itself is beautiful despite being quite sparse, and I felt like it really reflected the mood and reality of Iceland. (I went to Iceland, and specifically Reykjavik, last December, so I was able to link places and issues they were talking about with my experience.) That more than anything is what kept me going through it: it was just somehow lovely in the words themselves. This is getting two stars because I feel that a critical aspect of this is just out of reach from what I read, but perhaps with discussion around it, that remaining piece would fall into place. I could see this being a favorite book for others, particularly perhaps with a book club or buddy reads.

As a story though? I'm totally lost. It was told primarily through conversations, sometimes in lengths of speaking that were so long I forgot who was talking or why. One technical difficulty with that were issues with punctuation that sometimes obscured who was actually speaking or what they were saying versus thinking - hopefully that's just an ARC issue, but when it interferes with my understanding of the book, I feel the need to call it out.

The characters' stories all felt unconnected to each other. Hekla was the only constant link, and it felt more like each individual talking about themselves, through the medium of Hekla to the reader. Strange moments were sprinkled in as well, such as when Hekla and Jon John are talking about his difficulties with men and women, and in the middle there's a rare line of description: "Two dogs start fighting in the alley." I feel like it should mean something, it should matter that there's this uncommon moment of description, but I have no idea what it would mean. They were not fighting; they were in agreement. If you figure it out, let me know

This is one of those stories where it's about the characters and their mindsets, rather than about a particular plot or conflict. In fact, I have a hard time pointing out a conflict. I even have a hard time pointing out the ending, besides that it was the last few pages. Why was that the last few pages - I have no idea. I really wish I had someone to discuss this book with, as I feel that would help me coalesce some meaning from it, some significance. I feel like it's there, but I'm just missing it.

Thanks to NetGalley and Grove Atlantic for a free advanced copy in exchange for an honest review. ( )

I read this book for the #ReadTheWorld21 challenge on Instagram. I knew nothing about it, I picked it up at the bookstore just for this challenge, and I LOVED IT. Set in Iceland in the 60s, the main character is a writer and her best friend is a gay man. They are both so hemmed in by other people's limitations and demands. But their friendship keeps them afloat and gives them space to be themselves. Melancholy and lovely. ( )

A quiet novel set before the age of the Internet which highlights Iceland's isolation. Both Hekla and John Jon struggle to live the lives they imagine for themselves within their native culture. The author brought this conflict to life. I found the ending odd and abrupt. ( )

A lovely book about a young woman who wants to find her own way in the world as a writer at a time when women are held back by societal expectations. This is one of those books that doesn't really have much of a plot but does a great job of getting inside the characters and creating an atmosphere, thus allowing the reader to "try on" the characters' lives. I really enjoyed it and would read more from this author. ( )

The Publisher Says: Iceland in the 1960s. Hekla is a budding female novelist who was born in the remote district of Dalir. After packing her few belongings, including James Joyces's Ulysses and a Remington typewriter, she heads for Reykjavik with a manuscript buried in her bags. There, she intends to become a writer. Sharing an apartment with her childhood and queer friend Jón John, Hekla comes to learn that she will have to stand alone in a small male dominated community that would rather see her win a pageant than be a professional artist. As the two friends find themselves increasingly on the outside, their bond shapes and strengthens them artistically in the most moving of ways.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA NETGALLEY. THANK YOU.

My Review: It's always been true that, to be a success, a woman must do twice as much and can expect half the reward a man would get for the same labor. Hekla, cursed with both attractiveness and intelligence in a smugly patriarchal culture, learns that to be a writer who is taken seriously while also being a pretty female is a Sisyphean task. The 1960s were not yet times of change in Iceland....

Hekla's ambitions lure her away from her rural home and, when she arrives in Reykjavík, her efforts are...Herculean. Yes, lots of mythology referred to here, and honestly it's only down to the fact that there isn't a better metaphor for what she is required to expend. Jón John, her gay BFF, preceded her to Reykjavík because if there's a worse thing to be in rural Iceland than a smart, ambitious, pretty woman, it's a queer man. They take up residence together while he does the kind of labor he can find, gets laid when someone's horny and their wife isn't willing, and ponders with her why they should be reduced to such crummy exigencies for getting mere crumbs of what they really want.

I was ready to give the book five stars until I got to the ending. What happened there, I fear, was me smacking my nose on the sad, true realization that Jón John's deeply ingrained homophobia will, in fact, be the death of him; and that Hekla, in accepting a very terrible and unfair life for herself, has resigned herself to the way the world is. Is this how the book should end? Yes, I can certainly see that it would make the most sense for it to end as it has. I still wanted, on an emotional level, to feel the striving I'd seen the characters enact pay off. I expected Surtsey to come roaring up faster than it did and give the characters new, hot, fire-powered land to live their new, hot, fire-powered lives on.

“Men are born poets. By the time of their confirmation, they’ve taken on the inescapable role of being geniuses. It doesn’t matter whether they write books or not. Women, on the other hand, grapple with puberty and have babies, which prevents them from being able to write.”

No, not for humans as fully, honestly drawn as these humans were, to be given a fairy-tale ending. They got reality. It felt like a cheat; it wasn't, of course, but it felt like one. I will say that the emotional core of the book is sadness and that was not the source of my half-star docking. It was the changes Jón John and Hekla made not amounting to an improvement of their lives. It could have; it seemed to me that, once the Faustian bargain of marriage was struck between them, they could've used that energy to propel themselves to happier endings. But the core of sadness was too powerful. The end of the story is, in this book, really and truly an end. Hekla's book being published? A major achievement! And it's all her ex-boyfriend Starkadur's because otherwise, without his man's name on it, the book won't *get* published. Miss Iceland was beautifully, poignantly sad all the way through. But when a story has one note, it's hard to maintain one's taste for that, and only that, note.

The skylight has misted up in the night, a white patina of snow has formed on the windowsill. I drape {Starkadur}'s sweater over me, move into the kitchen to get a cloth to wipe it up. A trail of sleet streams down the glass, I traced it with my finger. Apart from the squawk of seagulls, a desolate stillness reigns over Skolavordustigur.

Understand your journey, don't undertake it if you're not in the mood for exactly that journey. If you are, this will repay your attention with exquisitely lovely, painfully honest images and you'll be honestly unable to see for sad tears that won't quite fall. ( )