Knut Hamsun: Dreamer and Dissenter. By Ingar Sletten Kolloen. Yale University Press; 378 pages; $40 and £25. Buy from Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk
KNUT HAMSUN, known as Norway’s greatest novelist, was a difficult and destructive person. He wreaked havoc with his family and his two wives and no day went by without some outburst or perceived slight. He hated and envied Ibsen and he loved Hitler. As an old man (born in 1859, he died in 1952) he refused to deny his worship of Hitler and his delight at the prospect of Norway becoming part of a greater Germany. After Hitler committed suicide, he sent a telegram of condolence to the German people. And throughout his life he railed against the Anglo-Saxons.
How this reactionary and deeply disturbed man came to be “the soul of Norway” is a fascinating story, explored by Ingar Sletten Kolloen, who used to be arts editor of Aftenposten, a Norwegian newspaper that regularly criticised Hamsun both as a writer and as a polemicist. Mr Kolloen’s team discovered a huge archive of unknown papers and the notes of the psychiatrist Hamsun consulted when he felt his creative powers were waning. To this reader these consultations seem pretty standard sub-Freudian stuff, but Mr Kolloen believes that the psychiatrist was able to reconcile various warring aspects of the man’s personality.
Hamsun started his trek to world fame in the least promising of circumstances. He had virtually no education and at 12 was indentured to an uncle who beat him often. As soon as he could escape, he took to the road, doing various menial jobs. At times he was virtually starving, but he had great presence and a succession of women fell in love with him. Through everything—rejection, inner turmoil, his corrosive envy of successful writers—he never lost sight of the ambition to be a hero and a poet. By sheer force of personality he managed to infiltrate literary society and had various bits and pieces published.
“Hunger” came out in 1890. It was not an immediate success, but there seems to have been a growing sense that Hamsun—his adopted name—was a man to watch. Arguing that modern novels were about consciousness, he explored his own fragmented personality in his book—and continued to mine this vein for the next 20 years. But as his writing became more widely known (particularly in Germany which was to be his biggest market), he began to hark back to the pre-industrial age of Norway and more traditional stories.
In 1920, despite misgivings about his hostility to democracy and all things modern, the Nobel committee awarded him its literature prize for “The Growth of the Soil”, his masterpiece. The book was a paean to the old agrarian values which, he claimed, were part of Norway’s soul. At the same time, he acknowledged that there was no going back. He became a world figure in literature, much admired in Germany and feted in Scandinavia.
He noted the rise of Hitler approvingly, declaring that he would revive the German and Nordic peoples. When war broke out he welcomed the Nazis to Norway and championed Vidkun Quisling, the Norwegian politician who led the collaborationist government. In 1943 he engineered a meeting with Hitler, to tell him that German policies were being abused in Norway. But Hitler did not want to be lectured. After Hamsun refused to back down, Hitler dismissed him angrily, a humiliation that Hamsun would never discuss, even in his own mitigation after the war.
For at the end of the war he and his second wife, Marie, were called to account. Because she was 23 years younger than Hamsun, and still an ardent supporter of Germany, Marie was made the scapegoat and sentenced to three years’ imprisonment. The Norwegian government delayed prosecuting Hamsun, hoping he would die. But he insisted on a trial and finally came to court. He was found guilty, and fined heavily. Though he was nearly 90 and deaf, he refused to apologise: he would never bend the knee to anyone. He would not be surprised that the 150th anniversary of his birth is now being widely celebrated in his native country.
KNUT HAMSUN, known as Norway’s greatest novelist, was a difficult and destructive person. He wreaked havoc with his family and his two wives and no day went by without some outburst or perceived slight. He hated and envied Ibsen and he loved Hitler. As an old man (born in 1859, he died in 1952) he refused to deny his worship of Hitler and his delight at the prospect of Norway becoming part of a greater Germany. After Hitler committed suicide, he sent a telegram of condolence to the German people. And throughout his life he railed against the Anglo-Saxons.
How this reactionary and deeply disturbed man came to be “the soul of Norway” is a fascinating story, explored by Ingar Sletten Kolloen, who used to be arts editor of Aftenposten, a Norwegian newspaper that regularly criticised Hamsun both as a writer and as a polemicist. Mr Kolloen’s team discovered a huge archive of unknown papers and the notes of the psychiatrist Hamsun consulted when he felt his creative powers were waning. To this reader these consultations seem pretty standard sub-Freudian stuff, but Mr Kolloen believes that the psychiatrist was able to reconcile various warring aspects of the man’s personality.
Hamsun started his trek to world fame in the least promising of circumstances. He had virtually no education and at 12 was indentured to an uncle who beat him often. As soon as he could escape, he took to the road, doing various menial jobs. At times he was virtually starving, but he had great presence and a succession of women fell in love with him. Through everything—rejection, inner turmoil, his corrosive envy of successful writers—he never lost sight of the ambition to be a hero and a poet. By sheer force of personality he managed to infiltrate literary society and had various bits and pieces published.
“Hunger” came out in 1890. It was not an immediate success, but there seems to have been a growing sense that Hamsun—his adopted name—was a man to watch. Arguing that modern novels were about consciousness, he explored his own fragmented personality in his book—and continued to mine this vein for the next 20 years. But as his writing became more widely known (particularly in Germany which was to be his biggest market), he began to hark back to the pre-industrial age of Norway and more traditional stories.
In 1920, despite misgivings about his hostility to democracy and all things modern, the Nobel committee awarded him its literature prize for “The Growth of the Soil”, his masterpiece. The book was a paean to the old agrarian values which, he claimed, were part of Norway’s soul. At the same time, he acknowledged that there was no going back. He became a world figure in literature, much admired in Germany and feted in Scandinavia.
He noted the rise of Hitler approvingly, declaring that he would revive the German and Nordic peoples. When war broke out he welcomed the Nazis to Norway and championed Vidkun Quisling, the Norwegian politician who led the collaborationist government. In 1943 he engineered a meeting with Hitler, to tell him that German policies were being abused in Norway. But Hitler did not want to be lectured. After Hamsun refused to back down, Hitler dismissed him angrily, a humiliation that Hamsun would never discuss, even in his own mitigation after the war.
For at the end of the war he and his second wife, Marie, were called to account. Because she was 23 years younger than Hamsun, and still an ardent supporter of Germany, Marie was made the scapegoat and sentenced to three years’ imprisonment. The Norwegian government delayed prosecuting Hamsun, hoping he would die. But he insisted on a trial and finally came to court. He was found guilty, and fined heavily. Though he was nearly 90 and deaf, he refused to apologise: he would never bend the knee to anyone. He would not be surprised that the 150th anniversary of his birth is now being widely celebrated in his native country.
