The Whispering Muse by Sjón (A review)

This is really just a short novel (only 141 pages), but don’t mistake it for a 'basic' one. Within those pages, you're carried from one story to another… and another… and another. It's short but dense.

I've never read Sjón’s novels or novellas before. This one just happened to be the title I picked for my required reading, since I needed a myth-based novel as a reference. I also wasn’t really in the mood (never have been) for the “well-known” ones, and Sjón felt refreshingly unfamiliar.

And since I didn’t expect to enjoy this at all, I’d feel almost indebted if I didn’t show some appreciation, whether as a review or just a scattered set of thoughts.

I’m basically mythologically illiterate. I never had that much interest in Greek (or Norse) mythology. But, I decided to just dive in as a general reader. I figured maybe I could still follow along. Well… not quite. Eventually, I had to pause and read a bit on Jason and the Golden Fleece and then jumping straight to the Caeneus episode in Ovid’s Metamorphoses (and only that part, because let’s be honest, I wasn’t about to read the whole thing). I’m glad I did. Without that, the mystery in the novel wouldn’t have felt so alive - and Sjón’s retelling is so vivid, so visceral, it almost feels physically real. (I’d even say his version of Caeneus is better than Ovid’s.)

A comment on English translation:

When it comes to texts written in foreign languages, English translations can be tricky. Translators, as is frequently the case, may attempt to eliminate the messiness of the original text in order to render it more digestible for readers. It becomes highly personalised interpretation and ultimately changes the author’s original prose. Victoria Cribb’s are the only ones available to me, but she is highly respected by the author himself. Sjón has praised her ability to preserve the tone, rhythm, and even the “messy” parts of his prose. So, I think it’s safe to say we can bank on her.

A brief overview and then some interesting things:

Authors often strive to make their first-person narrator at least somewhat agreeable, but Sjón clearly has no interest in that approach. In this novel, you'll likely find yourself mildly irritated with the narrator (though I was genuinely pissed off... but more on that later).

The story opens with Valdimar Haraldsson introducing himself. He's the owner and publisher of a small journal devoted exclusively to fish consumption and its supposed connection to Nordic racial superiority. Later in the novel, he shares his supposedly scientific observations comparing the physical builds of Nordic types to Germans, arguing that northern Germans are more physically developed than southern Germans, and that the same pattern holds for northern versus southern Italians. His thesis, essentially, is that the farther one lives from the northern coasts, the more physical development diminishes.

I think this level of emphasis on Nordic racial superiority and seafood consumption borders on obsession. He genuinely was obsessed throughout the story. It's not hard to detect his condescension toward people with different diets if you read between the lines.

He receives an invitation to join the Danish merchant ship MS Elizabet Jung-Olsen on a voyage from Norway to Turkey and onward to Soviet Georgia. During the journey, his main occupation is to recount the daily events of the trip. He spends his time mostly observing people, fishing, and delivering lectures on fish consumption, insisting that seafood is the healthiest diet available to man.

(His lecture is actually pretty interesting and quite convincing, but I’ll still maintain that meat from ruminants is the healthiest.)

And the most interesting thing which started the whole mystery of the voyage is the first mate, Caeneus. Every night at the captain’s table, before he begins his tales, he draws a wood chip from his pocket and holds it to his ear, as if it were whispering the ancient stories to him: accounts from his time as a deckhand aboard the legendary Argo, with Jason himself as captain. I suspect that’s where the title The Whispering Muse comes from.

Back to the narrator:

I didn't quite like his demeanor - he often comes across as a needlessly haughty, self-important bastard (though, to be fair, he does carry himself with fine manners). What makes it worse is that, even when Caeneus is recounting his extraordinary tales, the narrator seems strangely unenthusiastic about them. That contrast quickly becomes grating, since the reader is likely to feel the opposite. I certainly did.

However, I find that tension interesting: the constant clash between the reader's excitement and the narrator's indifference feels unusual and fresh. Funny enough, this kind of narrative style is actually quite satisfying to read.

I have to admit, even though I don’t usually go for myths, I found myself gradually, reluctantly drawn into Caeneus’ tales. With every pause for other events, I caught myself waiting - even agonizing - to hear what would happen next. At times, his stories unfold into yet more stories, like Sigurd and his sorceress wife Gudrun, retold through the verses of a poetess. It was bloody, tragic, and utterly unpredictable.

And then there’s the persistent, almost absurd feeling of annoyance the author stirs in me: watching the narrator remain constantly dismissive of the tales and of anything that doesn’t concern him or his narrow interests.

Yet at the same time, there’s this lingering mystery - you know it’s impossible: sea castles guided by gods, humans granted divine gifts defying all odds, a poetess whose words seem to foretell the future. But were these events really as Caeneus himself tells them? The narrator’s disbelief keeps pulling you back to earth, yet as the story progresses, it increasingly feels like he is actually aboard the Argo. You can’t help but wonder…

Caeneus himself remains a mystery. Is he really the mythological Caeneus? An Argonaut who sailed with Jason in search of the Golden Fleece? Or just a sailor with a brilliant knack for storytelling? You never really know - and if you decide to read the novel ‘cold’ (without knowing the myths beforehand), that uncertainty will keep echoing in your mind.

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A small spoiler:

You can, of course, read the novel 'cold'. In hindsight, it stands well enough on its own. But if you’re like me, someone who has never won against curiosity, it’s even better to dig a little deeper. You begin to appreciate what Sjón is really doing with the mythological material. He weaves the sea-going myth of Jason and the Golden Fleece together with the tale of Caeneus, reimagining them entirely through his own lens.

As I mentioned earlier, the novel is short yet dense. It’s remarkable how Sjón manages to contain so many elements into just 141 pages.

I later learned that this is Sjón's signature style: he writes small novels that somehow hold entire worlds. The Whispering Muse mixes myth, surrealism, humour, commentary, fantasy, even poetry - all without a wasted word. As he himself says: “One thing I will not do is write a thick book. I have always admired stories that cut to the bone without much ceremony. […] I think of the novel as a whale you can put in your pocket. In some cases, it is a blue whale.”

After this, I think he’s one of my favourites.

^{Photo from Sjonorama}