Little tree # 65430
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Little Tree. By Óli Ágústar.
An eccentric man loses his bearings when he is laid off due to old age, but the woman "who fuels his heart" remains in full swing. Together they build a holiday cottage on the banks of the Hvítá River in Borgarfjörður, where they fell in love half a century ago. The old man builds himself a location device and a weather station, and with a pacemaker in his chest he begins to build, plant and cook on a new piece of land. He takes a loving interest in small tree seedlings and small songbirds in the peat, but when the barometer drops and winter sets in, he has to contend with black dogs. In the stupidity of city life, he finds himself compelled to review his existence in the world and remember the past. Through worn-out diary entries, a world of sadness and hope is created where only old book friends seem to provide true help and solace — and small friends are beautiful in Hvításíð. The loose, free language of "Little Tree," poetic in its expression, imagery, and word choice, is one continuous ode to life, an ode to love, an ode to nature, an ode to Borgarfjörður — but also a witty description of painful loneliness and the human struggle to find meaning in the twilight of life. (Bókatíðindi 2012).
An eccentric man loses his bearings when he is laid off due to old age, but the woman "who fuels his heart" remains in full swing. Together they build a holiday cottage on the banks of the Hvítá River in Borgarfjörður, where they fell in love half a century ago. The old man builds himself a location device and a weather station, and with a pacemaker in his chest he begins to build, plant and cook on a new piece of land. He takes a loving interest in small tree seedlings and small songbirds in the peat, but when the barometer drops and winter sets in, he has to contend with black dogs. In the stupidity of city life, he finds himself compelled to review his existence in the world and remember the past. Through worn-out diary entries, a world of sadness and hope is created where only old book friends seem to provide true help and solace — and small friends are beautiful in Hvításíð. The loose, free language of "Little Tree," poetic in its expression, imagery, and word choice, is one continuous ode to life, an ode to love, an ode to nature, an ode to Borgarfjörður — but also a witty description of painful loneliness and the human struggle to find meaning in the twilight of life. (Bókatíðindi 2012).