Library material for kids

The rain is incessant and deafening, and himself is gone away for the weekend to compete in the Birkebeiner race - the largest mountain bike race in the world about which he has lately been obsessed! So what a great idea then to head to the library, return the overdue books I hadn't got around to reading after two months, and let the girls choose a couple of DVDs to watch tonight and tomorrow night. We got Finding Nemo and Tarzan. But look at what we could have procured from the children's DVD section. Yes, none other than the movie 'Fucking Åmål' which according to the strapline is 'Fucking Great!'. I can't tell you much more about it as to actually pick the item up might have lead to all sorts of questions and dilemmas. It was hard enough to get away with taking photos - 'why are you taking pictures, Mommy?' - you can picture the scene.

This isn't the first time I've come across inappropriate usage of the F-word in combination with a Scandinavian language. My teenage niece, who is Danish, has used it in her status update on Facebook. I'm guess it must be considered cool. But is it?

Back to School

So tomorrow is finally the first day back at school for the girls. I say finally, not because the summer hasn't been wonderful - it has, the damp weather notwithstanding - but because Norwegian schools have already been re-opened a week, it's as if summer is officially over in Norway and we're lagging a bit behind.

The first day procedure - as it is called - is that parents and children turn up in the school play ground and wander around looking for class lists which indicate which class their offspring will be in for the coming year. Last year I cried. I couldn't help it. My baby was moving to the big school from her lovely Montessori pre-school with two of her mates, and neither mate was in her class. So I wept. As discretely as I could. I'm a very emotional person by the way.

What a difference a year makes. Said child had the most amazing year which boosted her confidence into the stratosphere beyond the wildest dreams of a parent raised as an Irish Catholic in the seventies. My mother used to refer to confident children as being 'boisterous' - in a bad way - so I came from the mentality where anyone confident would elicit the comment: who does she think she is?

But tomorrow I'm not anticipating any tears although the absence of both daughters' best friends - one of five years standing, the other made in her new class in the past year - will no doubt have some effect. I'll wear waterproof mascara just in case. And take along a hanky. And my sunglasses. I'm sure I'll be fine.

Of course, as of tomorrow, I have no excuse for not getting on and finishing da novel. Now that, on the other hand, is something which is guaranteed to reduce me to tears. Of joy or sadness, I cannot yet foretell.

Resilient Oslo bucks the global trend for crisis

One of the questions almost everyone asked us during our two-week stay in Ireland was, 'How are things in Norway?'. They weren't meaning how are things with us, but how is the country fairing financially as Ireland, if the media is to be believed, sinks further and further into an economic gloom with unemployment creeping upwards and people's spirits and equity in the opposite direction.

According to an article in last Sunday's Observer, 'The global recession has hit almost every country hard. But Norway is faring better than most'. Click here to read the rest of the piece.

Annual Moose Posing

I imagine that our house has a reputation among the animals in the area as 'the house where the paparazzo lives.' No sooner has a four-legged friend appeared in the field and I'm grabbing my camera. Last night this mommy moose and her two calves patiently hung around for ages, grazing and posing as I snapped.

I tried to entice them to come closer but they said I should be grateful to have had the chance to get so many shots as it was. I swear - mommy moose even had the audacity to yawn!

Lessons Learned

Back in Norway where I'm making a priority of blogging; easily done when the alternatives are emptying suitcases, cleaning away dead flies and dust, washing laundry, and emailing the car hire company that over-charged us (thrice) for car seats.

As you can see from the photo, I managed to make an impression on Kamila Shamsie despite my certainty that I wouldn't have the gumption to speak to her. It went like this.

I was shunted up to the front of the audience - which wasn't very big - and so had a false sense of security as I couldn't see the people behind me. No, contrary to what I might sometimes tell my children, I don't in fact have eyes in the back of my head. I just need them.

After the authors read, questions were invited by the curator, Colm Toibin. I was a bit embarrassed by a series of questions about being a Muslim which didn't seem very relevant to Ms Shamsie or her book (What do you think of the conception of Muslims in the west?!!!!), and so false bravery, and a sense of lets get the discussion back on track prompted me to raise my hand.

I'd like to ask a techinical question please,' I said. Ms Shamsie looked relieved to have the disussion steered away from religious generalizations and stereotyping and said 'Great!'

I asked her why she had chosen to tell her story from so many points of view; she frequently changes the point of view of her characters while they are mid-conversation. This is quite unusual these days with most - not all, most - writers keeping different characters' head spaces to seperate chapters or at least separate paragraphs of a novel. When I pointed this out there was this murmuring of 'that's not true!' from several people behind me, while the author was agreeing with me. It was really disconcerting to be disagreed with en masse in such a way; to say I was taken aback is an understatement. I was very upset. Poor sensitive little me.

Anyway, it was a week ago. I'm well over it-obviously. But when I went to have my copy of 'Burnt Shadows' signed, Ms Shamsie said, 'You must be a writer,'; I guess the naysayers in the audience were not and didn't really get what I was talking about with changes of narrative point of view. It didn't make me feel much better to know this but it was very nice of her to write such a nice note in my book. So I learned two things that day: I need to develop a much, much thicker skin, and when standing beside Colm Toibin in purple suede peep-toe ankle boots, I feel very, very tall.

Kilkenny Literary Visitors

We’re currently on our annual summer holidays in Ireland during which the kids get their thrice annual hair cuts (3 for the price of 1 in Norway), I have salon-smooth hair for two weeks, and my husband uses my brother’s old mountain bike to cycle from Kilkenny to Carlow every second day as part of his Birkebeiner race training.

The best thing about coming here in August is Kilkenny Arts Festival. Not only does this offer lots of street entertainment for the kids but it also brings some great writers to the city to plug their wares giving me the opportunity to hang out with literary types. Well sit on a plastic chair in the audience in front of them for an hour then queue up and get my book signed.

Next week I’m going to readings by 2009 Orange Prize short-listed Kamila Shamsie, 2009 Booker long-listed Colm Toibin (who curates the literary events at the festival) and a newcomer Peter Murphy who has written a great book called ‘John the Revelator’. Last year I got to meet and have books signed by Sebastian Barry and Anne Enright. I told the latter that I wished I could write like her. ‘You should write like yourself,’ she replied kindly. ‘No, I’d much rather write like you!’ I gushed. Yes, I’m sure she was impressed. To Mr Barry I must have come across as an even bigger twat. He asked me what I was doing in Norway. ‘My husband is in gas,’ I said. Yep. Am really hoping to keep the head this year and keep the idiocy to a minimum. Maybe I'll mention my own writerly leanings. Ask an intelligent question from the audience in front of everyone. Neither of these scenarios is likely as all the events are too early in the day to calm nerves with a drink without smelling like an alcoholic. Still, I can fantasise about becoming Colm Toibin's newest best friend for another eight days, about chatting with Ms Shamsie on the merits of multi-point of view narratives for just two more, and then it'll be back to the barren literary landscape of Norway where such fantasies don't even exist.

I'll let you know how I get on.