Names for the Sea

April 15, 2013
The story of a British academic who, intending to fulfill her childhood dream of northern living, took a university job in Reykjavik. Moss (Creative Writing/Warwick Univ.) arrived in 2009, 16 years after the summer visit that was her only actual previous contact with Iceland. Finding herself living in the country she had fantasized about for so long--and with two small children in tow--wasn't traumatic, exactly, but it was obvious to both the author and everyone around her that she was a stranger in her new country. She determined to bike in a land where SUVs are the preferred mode of transportation and the weather is hostile more often than not. Unable to speak Icelandic and unwilling to speak English, she was so clearly on the outside looking in that it would have been foolish to pretend otherwise. Still, her memoir never veers into the maudlin, a refreshing perspective from someone who was so obviously out of her element. Though Moss and her family didn't make it to many tourist attractions (extreme cold not being ideal for toddlers), this actually makes the book better. By shielding her family from the winter and long drives in terrifying traffic, the author managed to lead what seems in her recounting to be an extremely Icelandic life. She achieved an understanding of the land and people, revealed here in subtle "aha" moments that readers will enjoy. She realized, for example, that Iceland's financial crisis, at its height during the year of her residency, was especially traumatic for a society that considered itself truly egalitarian. Much of what Moss learned, or learned to accept, is summed up when she writes, "The stories told by numbers and research are quite different from the stories we tell ourselves and each other. This is not to say that either is wrong." An infectious memoir from someone engagingly candid about her temporary homeland's limitations--and her own.

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Starred review from April 15, 2013

British novelist Moss (Cold Earth) has crafted a beautifully written account of her time living and teaching in Iceland, an insular nation perched on the outermost edge of Europe. She expertly captures the essence of the landscapes, especially in her descriptions of the strange emptiness that pervades the settled areas, as though people live there but no one is home. Her confessional and poetic writing style accurately conveys the discomfort of trying to fit into a society that seems as though it should be familiar but is unlike anything else the author has known. Moss does an excellent job of verbalizing the outsider experience of the nonnative: embarrassed about making Icelanders speak English to her and too shy to speak Icelandic to them, she tells of avoiding basic activities like shopping so she won't have to talk to anyone. Her conversations with various individuals nevertheless give readers a vivid portrait of Icelandic thinking and social culture. VERDICT An extremely insightful, accessible piece of travel writing on Iceland, this book will broadly appeal to all types of readers.--Carolyn Schwartz, Westfield State Coll. Lib., MA

Copyright 2013 Library Journal, LLC Used with permission.

April 1, 2013
The author's domestic adventures, challenges in understanding and adjusting to life in a cold and strange place, and admiration for the beauty of Iceland fill this meandering travel memoir of the year she and her family (husband and two small children) lived in Reykjavik while teaching at the University of Iceland. Moss, an Oxford-educated British novelist, captures the fierce beauty of the Arctic landscape, the hardships of establishing family life as foreigners on a local salary in a nation suffering an economic collapse, and most interestingly, the paradoxes of the national character. Icelanders seem both outward-looking and insular, a nation of deeply provincial voyagers who welcome foreigners but remain stoic, taciturn, and, at times, inscrutable. Moss is at her best when trying to make sense of the great pride and shame-filled inferiority that coexist within the people she meets. Her admirable prose on the weather, the light, volcanoes, and Icelandic folklore is interspersed, sadly, with repetitive laments about the subpar quality of imported fruit, lack of fresh vegetables, and Icelanders' dependence on the automobile in a climate that is subfreezing nine months a year.(Reprinted with permission of Booklist, copyright 2013, American Library Association.)