Out Stealing Horses

This slender yet powerful novel by Norwegian author Per Petterson is one to read and reread.

Following the death of his second wife when he “lost interest in talking to people,” the narrator, Trond, has retired to a remote forest-village in eastern Norway. When his nearest neighbor turns out to be a figure from his past, from a life-altering summer spent in a similar setting with his father, Trond’s memories begin to churn, despite attempts to lose himself in the details of surviving in his new environment (wood-chopping, shopping, cooking, dog-walking). He is forced to sort through a series of traumatic war-time events, both personal and political, that led to his father abandoning the family – and find a way to prevent himself repeating that pattern. The book is a sort of conversation in Trond’s mind as he looks back on past losses and reflects on his coming old age.

One of the best things about Out Stealing Horses is the narrator’s unassuming voice, which belies the force and intensity of the memories conjured up. It’s the calm, deliberate voice of someone I’d like to know better.

Another notable aspect of this fairly amazing book is what one reviewer referred to as “the consolations of landscape.” The quiet setting (snowy forest, river, lake, remote village) is a profound presence in this novel, yielding the tranquility that allows Trond to remember and process what he had not been able to at age 15. You feel that tranquility yourself as you read the author’s lovely descriptions and quiet prose.

Also impressive is the author’s ability to pass back and forth in time with undisturbed continuity. Adding to that, he draws parallels both subtle and obvious between past and present, which helps keep the plot tightly bound.

Finally, this book is filled with wonderful sentences – the kind in which one does the work of many. There's a purity to his prose, and I found myself reading certain passages over and over as I came across them and flipping back to find them again later. Here’s a sample from the first chapter:

“Time is important to me now, I tell myself. Not that it should pass quickly or
slowly, but be only time, be something I live inside and fill with physical
things and activities that I can divide it up by, so that it grows distinct to me
and does not vanish when I am not looking.”

I was sorry to turn the last page of Out Stealing Horses, and I know I will return to this lovely, impactful book. It's easy for me to recommend this one, especially to those who know what it means to seek solitude – the overwhelming beauty of being in a place “where there is only silence” and the associated risk of allowing time to “merely pass as you let others do the moving.”