We, the Drowned
Carsten Jensen
Language: English
Pages: 688
ISBN: 054773736X
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
A THRILLING EPIC TALE OF THE SEA
“We, the Drowned sets sail beyond the narrow channels of the seafaring genre and approaches Tolstoy in its evocation of war’s confusion, its power to stun victors and vanquished alike . . . A gorgeous, unsparing novel.” — Washington Post
“A generational saga, a swashbuckling sailor’s tale, and the account of a small town coming into modernity—both Melville and Steinbeck might have been pleased to read it.” — New Republic
Hailed in Europe as an instant classic, We, the Drowned is the story of the port town of Marstal, Denmark, whose inhabitants sailed the world from the mid-nineteenth century to the end of the Second World War. The novel tells of ships wrecked and blown up in wars, of places of terror and violence that continue to lure each generation; there are cannibals here, shrunken heads, prophetic dreams, and miraculous survivals. The result is a brilliant seafaring novel, a gripping saga encompassing industrial growth, the years of expansion and exploration, the crucible of the first half of the twentieth century, and most of all, the sea.
Called “one of the most exciting authors in Nordic literature” by Henning Mankell, Carsten Jensen has worked as a literary critic and a journalist, reporting from China, Cambodia, Latin America, the Pacific Islands, and Afghanistan. He lives in Copenhagen and Marstal.
that trembled. But now we looked up. At the stern of the ship-of-the-line, a pillar of fire shot up with a deafening boom. Then more: column after column of flame broke through the deck as the powder magazines ignited. In seconds, the masts and yards were reduced to charcoal, while the sails fluttered off in huge flakes of ash and the great oak hull became a weightless toy in the brutal hands of the blaze. But the worst was yet to come. The immense heat had set off the vanquished ship's cannons,
matters, as if they'd known each other a long time, and all the important things had already been said. He thought that perhaps they had little to say to each other. In the beginning there'd been a coziness to their silent companionship at the dining table or over a cup of coffee, the four of them. Now their meetings were filled with a tense, electric impatience while they waited to be alone, without the boy. Little Edith toddled around the floor and spoke her first words. He was always
would reveal itself. "Ha!" he snorted to himself. "The only answer would be to stay out here forever." He strode forward, half expecting that some refuge really would present itself on the narrow strip of sand, in a limbo where no one could force a decision on him. Walking on the wet sand was hard work. After some time it gave way to a carpet of pebbles left by the surf, which he stumbled across until he reached the dense shrubbery on the sandy crest of the spit, where well-trodden paths wound
from politeness to impatience. He was slim, with white eyebrows and a white, well-groomed mustache. His features were sharp, with a jutting nose and a firm chin, but there was a sunkenness to his face that bore witness to the first onslaughts of old age. His gaze grew inquisitorial. The doorman approached again, as if awaiting the signal to show her the door. The worst thing was that she seemed unable to stem her own nervous jabbering and take off on her own accord, and thereby preserve the last
Midtmarken because they were too far gone. The horror started to take hold of him as well. "He's definitely going to kill me too." Anton closed his eyes as if he expected the killer blow at any moment. "Why don't you just give him the skull?" "I can't." For a moment it was still there, that old stubbornness. Then his despondency returned. "It's hopeless. He'll kill me anyway." "Nonsense," Knud Erik said, summoning up more courage than he knew he had. "But it's definitely Kristian who told