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Flokkur: Bókmenntir

Skáldsögur

Skáldsögur

Skáldsagan Under the Black Sand var gefin út 29. maí 2013. Hún gerist á Íslandi, en er á ensku.

Pétur býr á Íslandi eftirhrunsáranna þar sem viðskiptajöfrar reyna að efnast á ástandinu og stjórnmálamenn þykjast vera heiðarlegir. Hann lifir fyrir spennuna sem fjármagn og völd gefa og hann er staðráðinn í að leyfa engu að koma í veg fyrir að áætlanir hans muni ná fram að ganga. Ekkert hræðir hann, ekki einu sinni forsætisráðherra.

Under the Black Sand

Under the Black Sand

Martraðirnar, þar sem sama konan kemur endalaust fyrir eru pirrandi og hann reynir að leiða þær hjá sér. Þegar honum er gefin mynd af sér með henni, fer hann að velta fyrir sér hver veit af henni og hvernig tilvera hennar getur verið þekkt.

Skilin milli raunveruleika og ímyndunar hverfa þegar maður er myrtur á skrifstofu Péturs. Martraðirnar magnast og verða raunverulegri en heimurinn í hring um hann..

Rafbókina er hægt að nálgast í ePub formi í Kobo versluninni og Mobi formi á Amazon:
USA – UK – Germany – France – Spain – Italy– Netherlands – Japan – Brasil – Canada – Mexico – Australia – India

Einnig er hægt að nálgast kilju (€15) og harðspjaldaútgáfu (€25) hjá höfundi. Þær er einnig hægt að nálgast á öðrum stöðum, en eru þá dýrari og ekki áritaðar.

Dómar:
Amazon UK, 28 May 2014 – 5 out of 5 stars
Unusual fast moving story
Format: Kindle EditionVerified Purchase
I bought this book as I like stories based in Iceland. It sat in my ‘wish list’ for ages as I was unsure whether or not to buy. There were no reviews to guide me. However I am so happy that I did in the end purchase it.

This fast moving story is about a forceful businessman, set in todays post 2008 bank collapse Iceland, trying to get a large project passed a political and environmental restistance to his plan. As the story develops you get flashbacks to the past, his past, which eventually consumes his time. It is a story of love over the centuries, of struggle against hard times and also of murder. I cannot give to much away as this will ruin your enjoyment. If you like a slightly supernatural story this is for you. Very good.

Amazon NL, 21 January 2015 – 5 out of 5 stars
A unique story in a unique environment. 
A story unlike other love stories. Contains all the aspects that makes you want to keep on reading (power, lust, love and well described feelings and sceneries). Movie material.

Amazon USA, 6 February 2015 – 4 out of 5 stars
Gripping story – needs an editor

Format: Kindle Edition Verified Purchase
Very good story; starts a bit slow, but if you keep going it will eventually grip you. It made me want to watch the short movie in which the book is based. I very much enjoyed the way the history of Iceland is used as a backdrop for the story, that works very well. The pronunciation guide was a nice touch, by the way.

Minor nitpick: this book would benefit from being looked over by an editor. There are a few repeated errors that look like translation mistakes (like using “ore” where it should be “oar”, or “clique” for “cliché” – both of these several times), and at least once a character’s name is replaced with what looks like an English version of the name (Halla is referred to as Heather in one of the final scenes).
((The issues here have since been corrected and are not found in the version currently on offer – Villi))

Amazon USA, 10 May 2015 – 4 out of 5 stars
Nordic spirits and a Nordic Tiger.
Format: Kindle Edition Verified Purchase
This crime novel swings from standard mystery to very different mythology. Very pleasing story that is tied up well. Most of the characters are very real but not sympathetic. No sweethearts traipsing through this tundra. Great melding of ancient and contemporary conflict.

Tvær stiklur voru gerðar fyrir bókina Under the Black Sand:

Önnur skáldsaga, Blood and Rain, er mikið til tilbúin og verður gefin út við tækifæri.Hún er ekki framhald fyrri bókar, heldur fjallar hún um ungan íslenskan blaðamann í Barcelona árið 1937, á tímum borgarastyrjaldarinnar.

Fullkomið fyrir mig!

Fullkomið fyrir mig!

Ég hef verið að leita að svona húsi. Hef ekki verið mjög virkur, því ekki er ég á landinu. En mig vantar svona hús. Hugsanlega þetta hús. Hverjir eru nýju eigendurnir?

Málið er að ég gerði stuttmynd á Íslandi fyrir nokkrum árum, eins og bloggvinir og aðrir kannski muna. Sagan var of stór í stuttmynd, svo ég skrifaði handrit í fullri lengd. Fékk ofsalega jákvæð viðbrögð frá því fáa fólki sem fékk að lesa. Hefði hugsanlega komið verkinu í framkvæmd og gert kvikmynd, ef ég hefði ekki verið að rolast í útlandinu. Hvað gera bændur ef þeir eru langt frá sveitinni sinni? Þeir skrifa sögu, svo ég fór í það að breyta þessu í bók. Hefur gengið ágætlega, þó að daglegt líf eigi það til að flækjast fyrir.

Sagan gerist á nokkrum tímaskeiðum í íslandssögunni. Hér á eftir er upphafskaflinn úr bókinni. Gerist í þessu (eða svipuðu) húsi. Afsakið enskuna, en ég fór víst að skrifa þetta á því tungumáli. Þetta er hugsanlega klúðurslegt, en það er bara þannig með verk í vinnslu.

1947

 

The storm had been raging all night. Thunderstorms were rare, but tonight was different. Like God wanted to show that he wasn’t happy. Like He wasn’t ready for the gift He would receive tonight.

The big house was dark, with just a couple of table lamps keeping total darkness away. The entrance was grand. Heavy furniture that had been picked for style rather than function. She was standing on the top of a central staircase, looking like a ghost with her light silk bathrobe. One nostril bleeding, soiling the perfectly white silk. She looked back quickly, saw him approaching and grabbed the heavy wooden rail. She stumbled down the stairs, almost falling. He followed slowly, like he knew she wouldn’t get away. One foot reached the floor and she looked back. He was standing at the top of the stairs. Took the first step down. She ran towards the large front door and tried to open it. It was locked. They never locked it. She tried frantically, but there was no point. It was locked and it would have taken an elephant to force it open.

She slowly turned around. He was at the bottom of the stairs now, holding the gun at his hip like a gunslinger from a bad western. It didn’t suit him, she thought. He wasn’t the gangster type. She looked at the antique bowl on the dresser. He had bought it for her at an auction a few years back. She hadn’t liked it. She wasn’t into this over-decorated stuff, but now she wanted it more than anything. She needed the contents. The keys. It was just out of reach. If she’d run for it, he might panic. She would never make it. Get the keys, back to the door, key in the keyhole, turn, open the door and go outside. No, she had to use reason. See what he wanted. Why he was doing this? Was it for the slender silhouette, smoking a cigarette at the top of the stairs? Nothing had been the same since she arrived.

He looked at the keys and smiled. Smiled, but his eyes were not happy. Moved closer to her. She thought it was a tear in his eyes, but it never came. He wouldn’t cry for me, she thought. He wouldn’t cry for anything. Not anymore. He had changed.

Her hand moved slowly down her side, finding the pocket of the bathrobe. Her hand slipped into the pocket. He moved closer, raising the gun. Her hand found something. She raised it.

‘Are you looking for this, dear?’ she said as a single shot echoed though the hallway.

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