By Per Petterson
The heartwarming debut that introduced in line with Petterson, the writer of the hugely acclaimed Out Stealing Horses, to prominence
Young Arvid Jansen lives at the outskirts of Oslo. it is the early sixties; his father works in a shoe manufacturing unit and his Danish mom works as a purifier. Arvid has nightmares approximately crocodiles and nonetheless wets his mattress at evening, yet slowly he starts to appreciate the realm round him. brilliant pictures accompany each one new occasion: a photograph of his mom as a tender girl makes him cry as he realizes how time passes, and the black automobile that involves acquire his father at the day Arvid's grandfather dies reminds him of the passing of his bullfinch. after which, one morning, his instructor tells his category to hope simply because a nuclear warfare is looming. Ashes in My Mouth, Sand in My Shoes, according to Petterson's debut, during which he introduces Arvid Jansen to the realm, is a fragile portrait of formative years in all its complexity, ask yourself, and confusion that would satisfaction enthusiasts of Out Stealing Horses and new readers alike.
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Additional info for Ashes in my mouth, sand in my shoes : stories
He couldn’t leave, he would have to stay there, maybe for a long time. Dad opened the window above and looked out. ‘Arvid! What’s up with you? ’ Arvid couldn’t answer, he just pointed. Dad closed the window and after a little while he came out. Arvid stood where he stood. ’ Arvid took a few steps, half-turned, but did not close his eyes. From the corner of one eye he saw his dad raise his arm and hurl the bird against the wall. When he came in he was scolded for the stains on his trousers. But it was too late to change, and anyway he had only one pair of decent trousers, so he would have to go as he was, like a mucky pup.
The priest’s voice soared around the room and rose to the ceiling, and Arvid leaned back in the pew and looked up, but he couldn’t make out what the priest was saying, and he fell asleep and didn’t wake up until everyone was on their feet and ready to follow the coffin to the grave. Outside it was pouring down, and Aunt Kari had to take one handle of the coffin even though she was a woman, for Uncle Rolf had been so upset after the service that he wasn’t up to being a pall-bearer, and then the rain took a turn for the worse.
No one calls me Fatso. ’ ‘I don’t understand, Bomann,’ Mum said. ‘I’ve never heard anyone call you anything except Bomann, that’s for sure, and the boy is only eight years old. ’ Mum said, and Arvid, who was a bit annoyed with her because she was lying, was impressed too, for she lied so beautifully, she didn’t even blush, just looked at Fatso with her brown eyes in such a good-natured way, and Arvid had never heard her say anything but Fatso when they were by themselves. ’ ‘Right, Bomann, I think you should go and sit on your step and finish reading that paper of yours instead of standing here playing the bogeyman,’ Mum said as softly as she could, and then she dragged Arvid indoors for dinner and offal.
Ashes in my mouth, sand in my shoes : stories by Per Petterson