Re-reading Kristin Lavransdatter

I did not intend to re-read Kristin Lavransdatter this summer; no, I did not. But Matt and I pressed it into Pascal-Emmanuel’s hands so firmly, and here he is gushing over it, and so I sat down to comment on his posts, which prompted me to refer to the first book in the trilogy, The Wreath, and then I found myself—an hour and a half later—a third of the way through it!

Perhaps it’s engrossing to this degree because this is my sixth read. I am not a re-reader by nature. Of all the books I have read, there are only a few that I’ve considered picking up a second time, and even fewer that I have followed though with a total re-read. Kristin obviously ranks among these, and it’s not just because it’s so good. It’s because I am making up for lost time.

I did not intend to re-read Kristin Lavransdatter this summer; no, I did not. But Matt and I pressed it into Pascal-Emmanuel’s hands so firmly, and here he is gushing over it, and so I sat down to comment on his posts, which prompted me to refer to the first book in the trilogy, The Wreath, and then I found myself—an hour and a half later—a third of the way through it!

Perhaps it’s engrossing to this degree because this is my sixth read. I am not a re-reader by nature. Of all the books I have read, there are only a few that I’ve considered picking up a second time, and even fewer that I have followed though with a total re-read. Kristin obviously ranks among these, and it’s not just because it’s so good. It’s because I am making up for lost time.

One of my favorite questions for high school English teachers is, “Which works of literature should not be taught to high schoolers because they simply lack the years necessary to appreciate them?” This sometimes prompts incredulity: there are some English teachers who put nothing on this list, who claim that any great work of fiction, when taught well, can capture teenagers. Most, however, will gladly rattle off a list of titles that consistently fail to engage this demographic. Often they mention the two works that my high school English teacher, in some sort of fit of madness, taught in one long semester: Moby Dick and King Lear. These works, perhaps because of their placement in our curriculum—spring semester of senior year is not known for attentive students, for better or worse, in the American system—failed to engage my demographic, and in fact, prompted us to champion for the right to substitute interpretative dances about cetacean matters for written assignments. I went to a progressive private high school. (I, by the way, returned to Moby Dick in my thirties and I now dearly love it. But I still don’t think it’s a book for adolescents; it takes some years under the belt to appreciate. And I will re-read it one of these days.)

The point I am getting to is that I wish I had read Kristin in my nonage! I was in my early thirties before I heard of it in a “Christianity and Culture” graduate school class taught by Robert Wilken. Wilken cited it as an example of the intersection of, and interaction between, Christianity and paganism in medieval Europe, and he claimed it was a fantastic novel. I sought it out, and was immediately, as is obvious, smitten. Why did it take me so long to find it? More evidence of its unsung status, which I, and now Pascal-Emmanuel, am working to correct!

Although I missed out on Kristin for too much of my life, I am proud to say that I did give it to a favorite young friend, who read it for the first time at age fourteen. We would take long walks together while my youngest three, who were infants at the time, slept in their stroller, so that we could talk about Kristin uninterrupted. She felt that Kristin’s infatuation with Erlend gave her insight into the behavior of her crush-crazy friends. I admitted that the descriptions of Kristin’s fantasies of running away from the convent with Erlend recalled very vividly for me—if not in word, in tone—the sort of reality-devoid pair-bonding fantasies I had in my own late teens. We mulled over Kristin’s loyalty to Erlend, juxtaposed their marriage to that of Kristin’s parents, and agreed that loyalty and forgiveness are key to any sort of Christian marriage. I told my friend how lucky I thought she was, that she would be able to re-read Kristin at many points in her life, and encounter it differently as her own station changed. She agreed, and she thanked me for giving it to her. Greatest book group ever.

If pressed, I’ll make a list of ten or so absolute favorite books, but I’ll refuse to rank them (too hard!). Of course Kristin is on there. But if the question is changed to, “What books have meant the most to you?”, then Kristin is definitively at the top of the list. When I read it for the second time, my father had died about a year before. As I read closer to the death of Kristin’s father Lavrans, even though I knew what was coming, it tore me apart. Lavrans reminds me more of my father than any other character in literature. Both were leaders adored and respected by their followers, both were of uncommon piety, and both were fathers who dearly loved their daughters. When my father died, my oldest two were completely broken down by the loss and my youngest three were babes in arms. There was no time for me to grieve; I needed to comfort instead, and to nurse and burp and bathe the babies. Encountering Lavrans’ death for the second time allowed me the bereavement I had skipped. And it was not lost on me that when I had to set aside my own mourning for the sake of my children, that this was a Kristin-esque moment in my life.

This is all to say, I think this is a truly great novel. And by “great novel,” I mean great novel. Some non-Christian friends read it recently, and after raving over it for some time, I asked them how they perceived the Christianity of Kristin Lavransdatter. They were a little taken aback; they’d noticed Kristin and her family were Christians and that theological themes came up, but, for them, Christianity was not a major part of the novel. Some might conclude they were inattentive readers, and I know I tend to see everything through a theological lens, so it’s hard for me to imagine not understanding this book as shot through with the gospel, but their reaction is proof for me that Kristin is not limited to the Christian reader by any means, nor is it really limited to any one genre. Pascal-Emmanuel and I have both likened it to War and Peace, and one way this is true is that both are genre-defying. They are about everything.

I am so pleased to have Kristin Lavransdatter to grow old with.