To Siberia

Couldn’t be happier that I snuggled in with this book over Christmas! With “Siberia” in its title, the reader should be well-prepared for a frosty novel. The novel’s settings in Denmark, Sweden and Norway will keep you putting logs on the fire. You’ll be in the skin of a girl who’s constantly cold, but her heart is ablaze with all kinds of passion – passion for her own strength as she pedals milk deliveries through her village, passion for her older brother as he leads an underground fight against the invading Germans, passion to take dashed dreams for an academic future and wring hope from her frozen landscape. Petterson’s prose is the warm vein that flows through this novel, the vein that pumps its characters full of show more life and makes this a novel that calls out to be read again and again. show less

Told from the perspective of an unnamed woman looking back on her teenage years in Norway, Petterson gracefully captures the bond between brother and sister as they navigate the suicide of their grandfather, neglect of their parents, corruption of their uncle, and the coming of Germans to their doorstep in the early years of World War II. Petterson's descriptive language had me remembering my own adolescence: nights when it was so pitch-black dark I couldn't see hand in front of my face. I remember waiting for the sweeping beam from the lighthouse before dashing ahead a few yards, only to stop and wait for the light again. Such is the fog that rolled off the Norwegian harbor, obscuring residents' view.
As I have often said before, I have show more trouble with translations. Like this line, for example: "One day my road is suddenly blocked and the train trapped in a wall of Bibles" (p 54-55). Does someone want to explain that one to me? The protagonist has been talking about becoming a missionary and traveling to far off countries. Does she mean that religion dashed her dreams?
To Siberia was so haunting. The language is sparse, but the unknown protagonist's love and unwavering devotion to her brother, even when he disappears in Morocco, is beautiful. show less

Per Petterson's To Siberia is the story, in lovely, spare prose, of the relationship between a sister and brother in Denmark before and during WWII, and how the war forever changes their lives. What is left unsaid in the story is almost as important as what is said--a book that stays in the reader's mind long after the last page.

After struggling initially to connect with the characters, by part two of the book, I was completely intertwined in the story and the relationship of Jesper and his sister. This is a story of the love that exists between a brother and sister, life when they are able to share it, and life apart from each other. It's a story of war and it's affects on families. It's a story of desperation and loss. "Sistermine" struggles without the companionship of Jesper and just sort of drifts through life. Together, though, their relationship is beautiful.

Petterson was able to draw me in with his vivid and wonderful portrayal of the intimacy between siblings. And although the ending of the book was somewhat sudden, it really brought a sense of reality show more and just fit. Good read. show less

To be honest, I'm not quite sure what to make of To Siberia. Petterson's prose is as stark and beautiful as in Out Stealing Horses and again the setting is Scandinavia, but otherwise it is worlds away. I suppose it's not fair to compare this to OSH but my thought is that many are coming to it based on their love of OSH as I did. If you're looking for more of the same gorgeous spare prose, by all means pick this up. However, if you're looking for another book that leaves you feeling breathless and in harmony with the bigger things in life, this isn't it.

This book is dark, cold and ultimately a bit hopeless in feel, much like it's unnamed narrator. You sympathize with her, to a point, certainly with the more difficult aspects of her show more childhood, but in the end she reminded me of Cathy from Wuthering Heights in that her behavior was maddeningly selfish and you just left the text glad to be done with her. Perhaps the best word for her would be "heartbroken". Her heart was broken when her brother Jesper left for Sweden abandoning her with their eccentric, remote parents. In return, she leaves home as he's about to return and wanders about, no more than using most of the people who cross her path with little concern for their feelings. This is a decision it seems she regrets for the rest of her life, and thus begins her tale with the happier memories of her brother. I felt there was a subtext here of an unnatural sort of love the narrator had for Jesper. There are moments in the narrative that suggest this: in the speakeasy dancing with him, she likes that the women who don't know who she is are jealous; when the self-appointed-Gestapo neighbor jokingly accuses her of sleeping with her brother, she overreacts; when she changes out of her wet clothes while visiting Jesper in the shack, she stops dressing and hugs him topless. Add that to her discomfort at his ease changing in front of her and (perhaps most importantly) that she never seems to enjoy a single sexual encounter in her life, and I can't help but think she loved him as an unrequited lover, not a brother. Ultimately it's this disturbing subtext that came away with me the strongest, and not the amazing skill of the writing. Which is a shame, because this really is an amazing work of both creation and translation. show less

This spare novel begins in a small village in Denmark prior to World War II. The unnamed narrator is a young girl in a troubled and struggling family, whose parents are tolerant and benignly neglectful of her. Her older brother, Jesper, is her best friend, and she loves him unconditionally. The narrator is an excellent student, which earns her no praise at home, whereas Jesper is an indifferent student, but is passionate about the anti-fascist movement in Spain and becomes a committed and active socialist. Both siblings dream of leaving their stifling home and village; Jesper dreams about Morocco, and his sister wants to escape to the frigid solitude of Siberia.

The Germans invade Denmark, and most villagers accept their presence. Jesper show more and others become active in the resistance movement, which ultimately leads to his separation from his beloved "Sistermine".

After the war, the narrator moves, without a clear direction or sense of purpose, to various cities in northern Europe, in a search for something, or someone, that is not clear to her or to the reader, while longing for word from her brother. She has given up on her childhood dream of moving to Siberia, but she ultimately receives a letter from her brother, who has made it to Morocco, and plans to visit her soon.

To Siberia was an interesting story, but I found the narrator and its characters to be inscrutable and of minimal interest, which makes this a marginally recommended read. show less

A darkness like soot clings to each of the characters in this book. Not one of them is happy for longer than one cold moment. If readers can accept this up front, maybe they'll be more likely to enjoy the book. I've been reading through Per Petterson's catalog for a few years now, and I find that his books all radiate a certain deep sorrow. I read In The Wake first and measure all subsequent books against that one, which remains my favorite. To Siberia is perhaps his bleakest, but it is beautiful, and his now familiar spare, evocative prose seamlessly shepherds the admittedly thin plot from Sweden to Norway and back. Petterson's descriptions of these countries always set me daydreaming about visiting them. Certainly this book is not for show more everyone (particularly not those looking for a pick-me-up and/or an intricate plot), and while I don't think it Petterson's best work, I still devoured it in less than two days. show less