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In the Distance
A young Swedish boy finds himself penniless and alone in California. He travels east in search of his brother, moving on foot against the great push to the west. Driven back over and over again on his journey through vast expanses, Håkan meets naturalists, criminals, religious fanatics, Indians, and lawmen, and his exploits turn him into a legend. Díaz defies the conventions of historical fiction and genre (travel narratives, the bildungsroman, nature writing, the Western), offering a probing look at the stereotypes that populate our past and a portrait of radical foreignness.
At first, it was a contest, but in time the beasts understood that, with an embrace and the slightest push, they had to lie down on their side and stay until Håkan got up. He did this each time he thought he spied someone on the circular horizon. Had Håkan and his animals ever been spotted, the distant travelers would have taken the vanishing silhouettes for a mirage. But there were no such travelers—the moving shadows he saw almost every day in the distance were illusions. With the double intention of getting away from the trail and the cold, he had traveled south for days.
Hernán Díaz is the author of Borges, Between History and Eternity (Bloomsbury 2012), managing editor of RHM, and associate director of the Hispanic Institute at Columbia University. He lives in New York.
At first, it was a contest, but in time the beasts understood that, with an embrace and the slightest push, they had to lie down on their side and stay until Håkan got up. He did this each time he thought he spied someone on the circular horizon. Had Håkan and his animals ever been spotted, the distant travelers would have taken the vanishing silhouettes for a mirage. But there were no such travelers—the moving shadows he saw almost every day in the distance were illusions. With the double intention of getting away from the trail and the cold, he had traveled south for days.
Hernán Díaz is the author of Borges, Between History and Eternity (Bloomsbury 2012), managing editor of RHM, and associate director of the Hispanic Institute at Columbia University. He lives in New York.
256 pages, Paperback
First published October 3, 2017
2,381 people are currently reading
37.5k people want to read
About the author
Hernan Diaz
16books2,540followersHernan Diaz is the Pulitzer Prize-winning and New York Times best-selling author of Trust. His first novel, In the Distance, was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize and the PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction, won the William Saroyan International Prize for Writing, was translated into more than twenty languages, and was one of Publishers Weekly’s Top 10 books of the year and Literary Hub’s twenty best novels of the decade. Trust, one of The New York Times’s 100 best Books of the Century, was translated into more than thirty languages, received the Kirkus Prize, was longlisted for the Booker Prize, and was named one of the 10 Best Books of the Year by The New York Times, The Washington Post, NPR, and Time magazine, and it was one of The New Yorker’s 12 Essential Reads of the Year and one of Barack Obama’s favorite books of the year. Diaz’s work has appeared in The Paris Review, Granta, The Atlantic, Harper’s Magazine, McSweeney’s, and elsewhere. He has received the John Updike Award from the American Academy of Arts and Letters, a Guggenheim Fellowship, a Whiting Award, and a fellowship from the New York Public Library’s Cullman Center for Scholars and Writers.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 2,831 reviews
November 15, 2018
One of the best books I’ve read all year. The story, and the narrative voice is completely captivating. At times Diaz gets way too enamored with his talent and goes on and on about some descriptive thing or other but man, the story itself and how it is told is absolutely unforgettable. Imagine the movie The Revenant if it were good.
October 2, 2022
This is an exceptionally well-written book, which might have been close to perfect if it weren't for the odd pacing that haunted its chapters. While entire sections of the book were given to the description of a recipe or the unhealthy state of a horse's colon, the majority of the story's main turning points were limited to only one or two paragraphs. One particular section - the battle between a group of settlers and a band of mysterious 'brethren' - should have been fascinating, but in fact was over almost before it began.
Nevertheless, this was a Western like no other I've ever read, and is sure to please any fans of the genre, or of. Literature in general.
Nevertheless, this was a Western like no other I've ever read, and is sure to please any fans of the genre, or of. Literature in general.
February 15, 2022
I resisted everything about this novel in the beginning. I honestly thought it was impossible to believe in. I wrote highly critical marginalia as I read--normally I don't write any marginalia. And then something happened. I gave up, maybe, trying to make the book conform to my expectation. This is the story of a man for whom everything in life goes terribly wrong. He lives out his life in nearly complete isolation from others. He wanders around North America with no sense of where he is, no education, and barely any ability to communicate with others. His luck is very bad. He spends most of his life, and most of the book, utterly alone. Hernan Diaz needed extraordinary imagination and empathy for this odd man he created; Diaz pulls off one scene after another where his character encounters an insoluble problem that threatens his survival, and overcomes it.
December 17, 2020
3.5 stars
“Håkan had been traveling away from the past but not into the future. He had remained in a constant present, leaving landscapes and people behind but never heading toward a more or less certain destination that he could foresee.�
When I sit down to write a review, I’m often weeks behind with four or five books having been read in the interim. This is at first an obvious disadvantage, as I need to sift through my notes more thoroughly before typing up my thoughts. There is one advantage, however. This gap in time allows me to reflect on the impact of a story. Sometimes the passage of so many days confirms that a book and its characters refuse to let go their hold on me. Other times I note that a novel’s staying power is rapidly diminishing. To some extent, that is what has happened in the case of In the Distance. While in the moment, the book entertained and the writing impressed me. Now, however, it seems to have been a competent story and one that I am happy to have read, but not one that I’m overly inclined to gush over. I guess what I’m trying to do is explain why I’m rather perplexed about my response to a book that I expected to land on my favorites list! Perhaps I’m just not in the right frame of mind currently. But I did like it a lot � and mainly for the main character, Håkan, or Hawk.
“A pair of hands came out of the water and groped for the edges of the angular hole. It took the searching fingers some time to climb up the thick inner walls of the opening, which resembled the cliffs of a miniature cañon, and find their way to the surface� He pulled himself out of the hole, picked up the hatchet he had used to break the ice, and paused, naked, squinting at the bright, sunless sky. He looked like an old, strong Christ.�
Håkan Söderström imparts quite the striking image when the reader first encounters him. I thought he seemed the stuff of legends and, as it turns out, he became exactly that to the people of this novel � a legendary figure of the American West. Håkan was born in Sweden but immigrated to America with his older brother, Linus. Their parents stayed behind, as they could only afford the fare for the two boys, for whom they had visions of a better life in the new world. As fate would have it though, the two brothers were separated before the ship even left the docks in England. Håkan doesn’t lose hope and feels he will eventually catch up with his brother in New York where they originally planned to land. Arriving in California after a long detour to South America, Håkan’s plans take a drastic turn. What follows is a story of a boy, then a young man, adrift in the American West in search of the East and his lost brother. It’s actually a fascinating look at what it would be like to roam a country in which you do not know the language and therefore have to rely on body language and the simplest forms of communication with others. A lot happens to Håkan along the way, in a part of the country wholly afflicted with gold rush fever. He bumps into plenty of other persons on his journey, but ultimately this is a tale of isolation and loneliness.
“There was only one change in that unyielding monotony—Håkan’s loneliness, the only thing with depth in that flat and flattening world.�
The west is rife with motley groups of individuals and Håkan winds up having run-ins with practically any kind of persons you could imagine. Only a handful of times is he fortunate enough to meet someone that will have a positive impact on his life, including a mentor that will teach him about the natural world and the field of medicine. Lucky for Håkan as these just happen to be life skills he will desperately need in the months and years to come. I can’t imagine plodding through the desert and open plains. Obviously, I would perish within days. Seeing the landscape through his eyes was the only way I could ever hope to make it through such godforsaken expanses.
Overall I thought this book was very well written and achieved what I believe the author intended. He has skillfully depicted what it is like to be set apart from others due to differences � whether that be language, appearance (here Håkan was described as having enormous stature as well as a formidable look due to his clothing fashioned from animal skins), or simply hearsay (stories of his adventures were distorted and highly exaggerated as legends always are). The resulting alienation and loneliness are highly affecting. Such stories and the men or women living them almost always crush me. I can’t pinpoint exactly what was lacking except perhaps the fact that In the Distance felt more like a work that tried too hard to emphasize a lifetime of solitude by going to the extremes. I felt more at home in the unremarkable yet aching company of John Williams� Stoner.
“Nothing left behind in the wilderness could ever be retrieved. Every encounter was final. Nobody came back from beyond the horizon. It was impossible to return to anything or anyone.�
“Håkan had been traveling away from the past but not into the future. He had remained in a constant present, leaving landscapes and people behind but never heading toward a more or less certain destination that he could foresee.�
When I sit down to write a review, I’m often weeks behind with four or five books having been read in the interim. This is at first an obvious disadvantage, as I need to sift through my notes more thoroughly before typing up my thoughts. There is one advantage, however. This gap in time allows me to reflect on the impact of a story. Sometimes the passage of so many days confirms that a book and its characters refuse to let go their hold on me. Other times I note that a novel’s staying power is rapidly diminishing. To some extent, that is what has happened in the case of In the Distance. While in the moment, the book entertained and the writing impressed me. Now, however, it seems to have been a competent story and one that I am happy to have read, but not one that I’m overly inclined to gush over. I guess what I’m trying to do is explain why I’m rather perplexed about my response to a book that I expected to land on my favorites list! Perhaps I’m just not in the right frame of mind currently. But I did like it a lot � and mainly for the main character, Håkan, or Hawk.
“A pair of hands came out of the water and groped for the edges of the angular hole. It took the searching fingers some time to climb up the thick inner walls of the opening, which resembled the cliffs of a miniature cañon, and find their way to the surface� He pulled himself out of the hole, picked up the hatchet he had used to break the ice, and paused, naked, squinting at the bright, sunless sky. He looked like an old, strong Christ.�
Håkan Söderström imparts quite the striking image when the reader first encounters him. I thought he seemed the stuff of legends and, as it turns out, he became exactly that to the people of this novel � a legendary figure of the American West. Håkan was born in Sweden but immigrated to America with his older brother, Linus. Their parents stayed behind, as they could only afford the fare for the two boys, for whom they had visions of a better life in the new world. As fate would have it though, the two brothers were separated before the ship even left the docks in England. Håkan doesn’t lose hope and feels he will eventually catch up with his brother in New York where they originally planned to land. Arriving in California after a long detour to South America, Håkan’s plans take a drastic turn. What follows is a story of a boy, then a young man, adrift in the American West in search of the East and his lost brother. It’s actually a fascinating look at what it would be like to roam a country in which you do not know the language and therefore have to rely on body language and the simplest forms of communication with others. A lot happens to Håkan along the way, in a part of the country wholly afflicted with gold rush fever. He bumps into plenty of other persons on his journey, but ultimately this is a tale of isolation and loneliness.
“There was only one change in that unyielding monotony—Håkan’s loneliness, the only thing with depth in that flat and flattening world.�
The west is rife with motley groups of individuals and Håkan winds up having run-ins with practically any kind of persons you could imagine. Only a handful of times is he fortunate enough to meet someone that will have a positive impact on his life, including a mentor that will teach him about the natural world and the field of medicine. Lucky for Håkan as these just happen to be life skills he will desperately need in the months and years to come. I can’t imagine plodding through the desert and open plains. Obviously, I would perish within days. Seeing the landscape through his eyes was the only way I could ever hope to make it through such godforsaken expanses.
Overall I thought this book was very well written and achieved what I believe the author intended. He has skillfully depicted what it is like to be set apart from others due to differences � whether that be language, appearance (here Håkan was described as having enormous stature as well as a formidable look due to his clothing fashioned from animal skins), or simply hearsay (stories of his adventures were distorted and highly exaggerated as legends always are). The resulting alienation and loneliness are highly affecting. Such stories and the men or women living them almost always crush me. I can’t pinpoint exactly what was lacking except perhaps the fact that In the Distance felt more like a work that tried too hard to emphasize a lifetime of solitude by going to the extremes. I felt more at home in the unremarkable yet aching company of John Williams� Stoner.
“Nothing left behind in the wilderness could ever be retrieved. Every encounter was final. Nobody came back from beyond the horizon. It was impossible to return to anything or anyone.�
December 13, 2023
REVENANT
Håkan Söderström, il cui nome di battesimo per un complesso sistema di pronuncia originale e storpiature successive [la prima vocale come una “u� che si fuse immediatamente con una “o� e poi con una “a�, però non in successione, ma come seguendo una curva o distorsione], diventa per assonanza The Hawk, il falco del titolo italiano (quello originale è In the Distance).
Spinti e motivati dalla fame, lui e suo fratello maggiore Linus, lasciano la natia Svezia del nord diretti a New York - che loro pronunciano Nujark � ma giunti nel porto inglese di Porthsmouth perdono contatto l’uno dell’altro. Håkan chiede come può quale sia la nave diretta in ‘Amerika� e s’imbarca nella terza classe: ma la rotta è un’altra, prima sosta a Buenos Aires, poi via Capo Horn a San Francisco.
A questo punto Håkan capisce che se vuole ritrovare suo fratello gli conviene la rotta a piedi, da ovest a est, piuttosto che ripassare per il mondo alla fine del mondo.
Ma il romanzo inizia con un’immagine potentissima: un colosso esce dall’acqua nei ghiacci dell’Alaska attraverso un’apertura a forma di stella. È immenso, possente, coronato da lunga chioma candida. Sul ponte della nave, intorno a un fuoco, si scatena la ridda delle leggende sul suo conto, tutti fanno a chi la spara più grossa. Il gigante si asciuga e veste, raggiunge la piccola folla, conferma, hanno sparato cazzate su di me, si tratta di leggende, i fatti veri sono andati in altro modo.
Sembra il tradizionale inizio di un romanzo d’avventura ottocentesco. Solo che questa volta il racconto non si sviluppa dall’io narrante, come viene automatico aspettarsi, ma attraverso la terza persona di un narratore, misurato e sapiente, lungimirante e tenace che prende la parte del Falco.
E neppure il romanzo, catalogato tra quelli di genere western, è così “classico� e neppure così “western�. Il paragone che viene più immediato e frequente è quello con il Cormac McCarthy della trilogia della frontiera e ancora di più con Meridiano di sangue. Ma forse perché Diaz nasce in Argentina, forse perché il percorso navale passa per Capo Horn, non sono riuscito a non pensare spesso anche a Francisco Coloane.
In questo bildungsroman ambientato nell’Ottocento (a giudicare dalle armi adoperate, viene da pensare che la storia si svolga nella prima metà del secolo: solo che poi appaiono due soldati reduci dalla Guerra Civile, e quindi la datazione si sposta più avanti, sicuramente nella seconda metà) il protagonista attraversa un paesaggio che ha poco da spartire con quello cui siamo abituati da film e serie (ed esperienze personali): un deserto dietro l’altro, prima rosso poi bianco poi di nuovo rosso, sabbia e polvere, e dopo le pianure piatte come un biliardo con miserrima vegetazione, e a seguire ancora deserto e ancora pianura. Una waste land dove un anno e un istante si equivalgono.
Si direbbe che il paesaggio rifletta una condizione mentale, più che l’inverso. Diaz lo racconta spesso come visto attraverso gli occhi di qualcuno che si nutre di peyote o altre sostanze allucinogene: l’esperienza psichedelica è nella scrittura, nel paesaggio geografico e in quello mentale, in questo viaggio che allontana dal passato ma non avvicina al futuro.
Il romanzo di Diaz � argentino di nascita, statunitense d’adozione, dopo sosta in Svezia credo per la maggior parte del ciclo scolastico � è l’esplorazione della solitudine più radicale e del disorientamento. Solitudine e disorientamento accentuati dalle difficoltà della lingua inglese, che il nostro Falco mastica poco e male.
Non ho potuto non empatizzare con Håkan nel crescere della sua disabitudine agli altri esseri umani, della sua separazione dal consesso umano: sempre solo, accompagnato da un cavallo e un asino, cespugli conigli roditori coyote, Håkan coltiva il timore di incontrare un proprio simile.
Direi che forte e feroce è la demolizione del mito americano della frontiera, della conquista del West. A cominciare dal fatto che il Falco procede al contrario, da ovest verso est. E dopo aver speso una vita in the distance, semplicemente a essere ed esistere � anche se sarebbe più giusto dire una vita a nascondersi e fuggire dalla sua distorta fama � convinto di aver percorso il periplo della Terra anche più di una volta, Håkan il Falco non si lascia conquistare dalle luci e i lustrini e il frastuono del nuovo paese in costruzione: sceglie l’Alaska, la nuova terra del Nuovo Continente, la più estrema. La più prossima al suo punto di partenza.
PS
Tre stelle e mezzo per le tante ripetizioni e l’immobilità assoluta di certe fasi narrative: qualche decina di pagine in meno avrebbe giovato molto. Forse anche Diaz ha ceduto alla tentazione del funghetto quando scriveva.
Hernan Diaz
Håkan Söderström, il cui nome di battesimo per un complesso sistema di pronuncia originale e storpiature successive [la prima vocale come una “u� che si fuse immediatamente con una “o� e poi con una “a�, però non in successione, ma come seguendo una curva o distorsione], diventa per assonanza The Hawk, il falco del titolo italiano (quello originale è In the Distance).
Spinti e motivati dalla fame, lui e suo fratello maggiore Linus, lasciano la natia Svezia del nord diretti a New York - che loro pronunciano Nujark � ma giunti nel porto inglese di Porthsmouth perdono contatto l’uno dell’altro. Håkan chiede come può quale sia la nave diretta in ‘Amerika� e s’imbarca nella terza classe: ma la rotta è un’altra, prima sosta a Buenos Aires, poi via Capo Horn a San Francisco.
A questo punto Håkan capisce che se vuole ritrovare suo fratello gli conviene la rotta a piedi, da ovest a est, piuttosto che ripassare per il mondo alla fine del mondo.
Ma il romanzo inizia con un’immagine potentissima: un colosso esce dall’acqua nei ghiacci dell’Alaska attraverso un’apertura a forma di stella. È immenso, possente, coronato da lunga chioma candida. Sul ponte della nave, intorno a un fuoco, si scatena la ridda delle leggende sul suo conto, tutti fanno a chi la spara più grossa. Il gigante si asciuga e veste, raggiunge la piccola folla, conferma, hanno sparato cazzate su di me, si tratta di leggende, i fatti veri sono andati in altro modo.
Sembra il tradizionale inizio di un romanzo d’avventura ottocentesco. Solo che questa volta il racconto non si sviluppa dall’io narrante, come viene automatico aspettarsi, ma attraverso la terza persona di un narratore, misurato e sapiente, lungimirante e tenace che prende la parte del Falco.
E neppure il romanzo, catalogato tra quelli di genere western, è così “classico� e neppure così “western�. Il paragone che viene più immediato e frequente è quello con il Cormac McCarthy della trilogia della frontiera e ancora di più con Meridiano di sangue. Ma forse perché Diaz nasce in Argentina, forse perché il percorso navale passa per Capo Horn, non sono riuscito a non pensare spesso anche a Francisco Coloane.
In questo bildungsroman ambientato nell’Ottocento (a giudicare dalle armi adoperate, viene da pensare che la storia si svolga nella prima metà del secolo: solo che poi appaiono due soldati reduci dalla Guerra Civile, e quindi la datazione si sposta più avanti, sicuramente nella seconda metà) il protagonista attraversa un paesaggio che ha poco da spartire con quello cui siamo abituati da film e serie (ed esperienze personali): un deserto dietro l’altro, prima rosso poi bianco poi di nuovo rosso, sabbia e polvere, e dopo le pianure piatte come un biliardo con miserrima vegetazione, e a seguire ancora deserto e ancora pianura. Una waste land dove un anno e un istante si equivalgono.
Si direbbe che il paesaggio rifletta una condizione mentale, più che l’inverso. Diaz lo racconta spesso come visto attraverso gli occhi di qualcuno che si nutre di peyote o altre sostanze allucinogene: l’esperienza psichedelica è nella scrittura, nel paesaggio geografico e in quello mentale, in questo viaggio che allontana dal passato ma non avvicina al futuro.
Il romanzo di Diaz � argentino di nascita, statunitense d’adozione, dopo sosta in Svezia credo per la maggior parte del ciclo scolastico � è l’esplorazione della solitudine più radicale e del disorientamento. Solitudine e disorientamento accentuati dalle difficoltà della lingua inglese, che il nostro Falco mastica poco e male.
Non ho potuto non empatizzare con Håkan nel crescere della sua disabitudine agli altri esseri umani, della sua separazione dal consesso umano: sempre solo, accompagnato da un cavallo e un asino, cespugli conigli roditori coyote, Håkan coltiva il timore di incontrare un proprio simile.
Direi che forte e feroce è la demolizione del mito americano della frontiera, della conquista del West. A cominciare dal fatto che il Falco procede al contrario, da ovest verso est. E dopo aver speso una vita in the distance, semplicemente a essere ed esistere � anche se sarebbe più giusto dire una vita a nascondersi e fuggire dalla sua distorta fama � convinto di aver percorso il periplo della Terra anche più di una volta, Håkan il Falco non si lascia conquistare dalle luci e i lustrini e il frastuono del nuovo paese in costruzione: sceglie l’Alaska, la nuova terra del Nuovo Continente, la più estrema. La più prossima al suo punto di partenza.
PS
Tre stelle e mezzo per le tante ripetizioni e l’immobilità assoluta di certe fasi narrative: qualche decina di pagine in meno avrebbe giovato molto. Forse anche Diaz ha ceduto alla tentazione del funghetto quando scriveva.
Hernan Diaz
August 13, 2022
I resisted everything about this novel in the beginning. I honestly thought it was impossible to believe in. I wrote highly critical marginalia as I read--normally I don't write any marginalia. And then something happened. I gave up, maybe, trying to make the book conform to my expectation. This is the story of a man for whom everything in life goes terribly wrong. He lives out his life in nearly complete isolation from others. He wanders around North America with no sense of where he is, no education, and barely any ability to communicate with others. His luck is very bad. He spends most of his life, and most of the book, utterly alone. Hernan Diaz needed extraordinary imagination and empathy for this odd man he created; Diaz pulls off one scene after another where his character encounters an insoluble problem that threatens his survival, and overcomes it.
Before I read this novel, I read with "me, the reading person" at the center of my experience with the book. It was all about what I liked and what worked for -me-. Of course there is no getting away from our personal biases, not really, but what I do now is try to check them as I read. So instead of saying "i don't like this" I say "what is this book trying to do?" It sounds simple but it's been revelatory. I'm yielding to the book vs. trying to make in conform to my expectations. It was very enjoyable to me to read through this book a second time without any of my former expectations of it getting in the way--to just let the book be what it is, and to take me where it would. I don't know if I'm describing what I mean in a coherent way at all. I'll probably try again in another review soon, of a book I found myself fighting with in the beginning, before I reminded myself that "I" (with all my quirks and preferences and biases and foibles) am there with the book as its audience, and not the main event.
Before I read this novel, I read with "me, the reading person" at the center of my experience with the book. It was all about what I liked and what worked for -me-. Of course there is no getting away from our personal biases, not really, but what I do now is try to check them as I read. So instead of saying "i don't like this" I say "what is this book trying to do?" It sounds simple but it's been revelatory. I'm yielding to the book vs. trying to make in conform to my expectations. It was very enjoyable to me to read through this book a second time without any of my former expectations of it getting in the way--to just let the book be what it is, and to take me where it would. I don't know if I'm describing what I mean in a coherent way at all. I'll probably try again in another review soon, of a book I found myself fighting with in the beginning, before I reminded myself that "I" (with all my quirks and preferences and biases and foibles) am there with the book as its audience, and not the main event.
Read
June 1, 2020L o n e
Four lone letters
In an empty space.
Adding letters to Lone makes
Lone more alone, more lonely.
Lone is loss.
Lone is forlorn.
Lone is lovelorn.
Lone is lorn.
The lone hero of this book
Loses everything,
Even his true name.
Others call him Hawk.
The name Hawk creates fear.
Fear creates distance.
Distance creates loneliness.
Loneliness leads to learning.
Learning provides consolation,
From the wide sky,
From the empty horizon,
From pure air and clear water.
Lone becomes his only desire,
His only dream,
His only destination.
L o n e
February 23, 2018
Dawn was an intuition, certain yet unseen, and Håkan ran toward it, his eyes fixed on the distant spot that, he was sure, would soon redden, showing him the straight line to his brother. The intense wind on his back was a good omen -- an encouraging hand pushing him forward while also sweeping away his tracks.
I adore historical fiction that features a lone, introspective man traveling the American west, encountering violent situations, meeting oddball characters, bedding women of dubious virtue, and occasionally finding love just before losing it. This is one of those books, so I'm letting you know that I was already predisposed to love it.
Traveling from Sweden to the U.S., a teenage Håkan becomes separated from his older brother during a stopover in the U.K. As their destination was Nujårk (New York), Håkan boards a ship headed for America thinking they will be reunited there. But, when Håkan's ship docks in California instead, he decides to journey across the continent hoping to find his brother at the other end. And, yes, he does encounter everything that I mentioned in the first paragraph . . . and more. His reputation grows as fast as his body, and before long he has become a legend - the Hawk - a man both feared, admired, and ultimately hunted.
Aaah! I know. That last line is horribly melodramatic. This was good. Very good. If it sounds like your kind of thing, then READ IT.
I adore historical fiction that features a lone, introspective man traveling the American west, encountering violent situations, meeting oddball characters, bedding women of dubious virtue, and occasionally finding love just before losing it. This is one of those books, so I'm letting you know that I was already predisposed to love it.
Traveling from Sweden to the U.S., a teenage Håkan becomes separated from his older brother during a stopover in the U.K. As their destination was Nujårk (New York), Håkan boards a ship headed for America thinking they will be reunited there. But, when Håkan's ship docks in California instead, he decides to journey across the continent hoping to find his brother at the other end. And, yes, he does encounter everything that I mentioned in the first paragraph . . . and more. His reputation grows as fast as his body, and before long he has become a legend - the Hawk - a man both feared, admired, and ultimately hunted.
Aaah! I know. That last line is horribly melodramatic. This was good. Very good. If it sounds like your kind of thing, then READ IT.
June 13, 2017
This is one of the best books of the year. It's like Cormac McCarthy, except good. Beautiful and suspenseful and alive, with some of the best landscape writing ever ("Nothing interrupted the mineral silence of the desert. In its complete stillness, the world seemed solid, as if made of one single dry block."). Diaz cleverly uses Hakan's lack of English to heighten the tension of the scenes. There's an amazing drug-induced scene in which Hakan looks at his own brain. And perhaps most memorable is a beautiful 14-page chapter near the end in which Hakan lives a repetitious existence in the middle of the desert during which he sees no one for years and the words literally begin to repeat themselves--not since Krasznahorkai's Satantango, in which the text itself begins to dissolve on the page, have I seen a meta-textual tactic employed to such wonderful effect.
I could quote any number of passages, but here's one I love:
I could quote any number of passages, but here's one I love:
He crossed deserts and forded rivers, climbed mountains and traversed plains. He ate fish and prairie dogs, slept on moss and sand, skinned caribou and iguanas. His face became wrinkled by many summers and furrowed by many winters. His hands, burned and frostbitten year after year, were crossed and recrossed with lines and creases. Once, he saw the ocean, but turned around immediately, thinking there would be settlements along the coastline. Whenever he stopped, it was at an inhospitable location--never in a meadow, by a water source, or in a plentiful spot--barely pitching camp and seldom making fires. It was dead quiet in his mind. He rarely thought of anything that was not at hand. Years vanished under a weightless present.
September 30, 2018
What a beautiful, bittersweet story this is. I think it captures the heartache of loneliness better than any novel I've read. And it's a very clever take on the Western, an unflinching exploration of what happens when the American Dream turns sour.
At some point in the nineteenth century, Håkan is a young Swedish man who leaves for New York with his brother Linus in the hope of a better life. He looks up to Linus more than anyone else in the world, his best friend and teacher. However in the hubbub at Portsmouth wharf, the pair become separated. Håkan ends up on a ship bound for Argentina, and eventually arrives in California. Despite this terrifying setback, he swears he will make it to New York somehow and locate Linus. But this is an alien land and he doesn't speak the language. His journey east is fraught with danger and he encounters many unusual individuals, including a saloon owner who keeps him as her sex slave, and a naturalist named Lorimer who ropes him into an expedition on the salt flats. There are obstacles every step of the way, but the thought of seeing his beloved brother again is the one thing that keeps Håkan going.
Along the way, Håkan learns about this strange new land, but he also finds out what kind of man he really is. He discovers an aptitude for science and medicine, and loves to practice his skills in these areas. As he keeps growing physically into the size of a giant, and he is forced to develop his fighting skills, Håkan earns legendary status as The Hawk, a bloodthirsty savage who kills men with his bare hands. Of course these reports are exaggerated and Håkan is horrified by the stories, which serve to drive him further from civilization and into the solace of solitude.
Lorimer is the first person in America to show him kindness. It's only when the man becomes ill that Håkan realises what he is missing and compares this to the love from his brother: "Both had protected him, deemed him deserving of their attention, and even seen in him qualities worth fostering." There are times on his voyage east when his loneliness becomes too much to bear and a sense of hopelessness engulfs him: "He was overwhelmed by an active, all-consuming hollowness - a corrosive shadow wiping out the world in its progress, a stillness that had nothing to do with peace, a voracious silence craving total desolation, an infectious nothingness colonising everything." But when Håkan finally makes a friend, it is incredibly moving. He has been alone for so long, he can't believe that he has been deemed worthy of companionship by another human being:
Hernan Diaz does have a manner of repetition and a liking for lists, and there were times when these habits irked me. But he writes as beautifully about the American landscape as he does about matters of the heart, about that longing to connect and to share your life with someone special. In the Distance is a profound, lyrical tale of loneliness and adventure - a poignant, life-affirming story of finding one's place in the world.
At some point in the nineteenth century, Håkan is a young Swedish man who leaves for New York with his brother Linus in the hope of a better life. He looks up to Linus more than anyone else in the world, his best friend and teacher. However in the hubbub at Portsmouth wharf, the pair become separated. Håkan ends up on a ship bound for Argentina, and eventually arrives in California. Despite this terrifying setback, he swears he will make it to New York somehow and locate Linus. But this is an alien land and he doesn't speak the language. His journey east is fraught with danger and he encounters many unusual individuals, including a saloon owner who keeps him as her sex slave, and a naturalist named Lorimer who ropes him into an expedition on the salt flats. There are obstacles every step of the way, but the thought of seeing his beloved brother again is the one thing that keeps Håkan going.
Along the way, Håkan learns about this strange new land, but he also finds out what kind of man he really is. He discovers an aptitude for science and medicine, and loves to practice his skills in these areas. As he keeps growing physically into the size of a giant, and he is forced to develop his fighting skills, Håkan earns legendary status as The Hawk, a bloodthirsty savage who kills men with his bare hands. Of course these reports are exaggerated and Håkan is horrified by the stories, which serve to drive him further from civilization and into the solace of solitude.
Lorimer is the first person in America to show him kindness. It's only when the man becomes ill that Håkan realises what he is missing and compares this to the love from his brother: "Both had protected him, deemed him deserving of their attention, and even seen in him qualities worth fostering." There are times on his voyage east when his loneliness becomes too much to bear and a sense of hopelessness engulfs him: "He was overwhelmed by an active, all-consuming hollowness - a corrosive shadow wiping out the world in its progress, a stillness that had nothing to do with peace, a voracious silence craving total desolation, an infectious nothingness colonising everything." But when Håkan finally makes a friend, it is incredibly moving. He has been alone for so long, he can't believe that he has been deemed worthy of companionship by another human being:
"They travelled on westward, mostly in silence. Now and then, however, they would look at each other from their horses and smile fleetingly. No one had ever smiled at Håkan like that, for no reason. It felt good. After a while, he learned to smile back. Every evening, when they bivouacked, as they built a fire and made dinner, he found it almost miraculous to be seen by someone, to be in someone's brain, to reside in someone's consciousness."
Hernan Diaz does have a manner of repetition and a liking for lists, and there were times when these habits irked me. But he writes as beautifully about the American landscape as he does about matters of the heart, about that longing to connect and to share your life with someone special. In the Distance is a profound, lyrical tale of loneliness and adventure - a poignant, life-affirming story of finding one's place in the world.
July 19, 2020
This year it is not so much what I read but who I have been reading with. About midway into this existence that is 2020, a group of us on ŷ decided to start holding monthly zoom meetings. I was skeptical as these are online relationships but craving human contact, I thought it was a good idea. A few months in, the meetings have been wonderful and end up running well past the established time. It is apparent that most of us are missing the time spent in real life book clubs, and after a month of reading all the book recommendations and discussions come pouring out. In the Distance was one of those recommendations. One of our members had read it last month, and the story seemed so intriguing if not compelling, that the rest of us decided to read it as well. Piggybacking on our zoom meeting, a thought provoking discussion followed. In essence, it is valued discussions like these that lead me to originally join ŷ. In the Distance is just one of those books that is so multi faceted that everyone has much to say about it.
Hakan Soderstrom grew up with his family in Sweden. Although it was a rural and for the most part impoverished life, it was all he ever knew. One day, the family’s mare gave birth to twins and the father sold one of them to try to pay off a creditor. Then he had second thoughts, hiding the remaining horses and told his sons Linus and Hakan to take the money and go to America. Hopefully, the boys would have a better life there, even though life in Sweden seemed to be blissful for teenager Hakan. He had barely heard of America, and, yet, he was on his way to begin an epic journey to the other side of the world. If Hakan and Linus had arrived in New York as planned and started a path to a better life for themselves, In the Distance would have been another immigrant experience book, although it is a genre I enjoy reading. On the ship dock in England, Hakan is separated from Linus. Readers never know if Linus arrives in New York safely or not, as his memory becomes fleeting over time. In rudimentary English, Hakan boards a ship bound for California, far from Linus, New York, and most other Swedish settlers in the United States. Inexperienced in life, Hakan would have to make do in a new country on his own.
Hakan lands in a California thick in gold fever. It is the early 1850s and the first settlers have arrived west after hearing about gold in the hills. Hakan latches on with a family Brennan from Ireland, but this becomes fleeting as well, as Hakan is taken captive by saloon owners who desire him for his massive size. In this saloon, he is paired with a woman and becomes a man although not by choice. This is just the first of the unhappy memories that befalls Hakan in America, but eventually he escapes. He then meets up with a naturalist named John Lorimer who was attracted to the second great awakening movement and does not believe in organized religion. Hakan was brought up in a religious home and questions Lorimer’s beliefs are first, but it is with Lorimer that he learns how to survive in the wilderness- how to hunt and skin animals, boil water, build a basic shelter, and care for a horse and burro. These skills would hopefully allow Hakan to reach New York, which early on in his journey was still his goal, to be reunited with Linus and start on a path to a better life. Destiny had different plans for Hakan. As time moved on, Linus became a fleeting memory, and all Hakan wanted to do was survive. Thankfully, he had the skills to do so.
Lorimer introduces Hakan to a Native American medicine man who taught him how to treat all types of wounds, yet another skill that would allow him to survive the west. Lorimer’s destiny is with the salt flats of the southwest but he advises Hakan to travel north until he reaches the Oregon trail and to travel in the opposite direction. It might take a few long, arduous months, but the trail moves in a straight line and eventually he would reach New York. Here, Hakan meets good men and swindlers alike, and his exploits turned into mythic proportions. On the trail, the settlers are ambushed by Mormon brethren who would not allow anyone else to settle in their new territory of Utah. A fight ensues and Hakan, who has now grown to his full adult height holds off and kills as many Mormons as possible. The settlers laud him as a hero, but the Brethren back in Illinois territory are not too happy with him, forcing Hakan to live the rest of his life on the run, in solitude, New York becoming more of an idea than a reality. In his shelters, Hakan kills animals for survival and begins to sew himself a fur coat of pelts. People hear of the giant “Hawk� who killed all those men, and it is in his years of solitude that his legend grows into a legend and reaches all over the west. His life begins to grow into a great adventure story but not one that anyone would want for themselves. Despite being able to survive for years in the wilderness, Hakan is forced to live away from humanity for the duration of the novel, Linus becoming a memory of the past.
Hernan Diaz has constructed a story that shows that the immigrant experience of the 19th century was not all streets paved with gold and dollars growing from trees. Immigrants began arriving in the mid 19th century to better themselves; however, for those moving west, the land was still largely unsettled and full of dangers. Diaz� writing was fast paced and compelling and I can see how this would attract Pulitzer voters (it was a runner up) as this is an original take on both a western and immigration novel. Maybe it was all the horrors that happened to Hakan over the years and the lies that turned into mythic proportions that spread about him. I didn’t necessarily need him to reunite with his brother. That would have been too farfetched and a happy ending that does not fit this book. I would have liked to see him have some happiness but his was short lived. When I read an immigration story, I’m looking to see the immigrant achieve the American Dream and that does not happen here in the traditional sense, so Hakan’s story leaves a sour taste in my mouth even though the writing was excellent. This may be Diaz� point: that to this day, the immigrant experience is not easy, is not immediately stepping off the boat or plane into a better life. Hakan Soderstrom and his epic story embody this as well as the immigrant stories I have read over the years that show new Americans from all over the world finding instant happiness in their new nation. After all of journeys, Hakan is as much of a western American as all of the immigrant stories with happy endings.
One day perhaps Hakan reunites with Linus, either in New York or in Sweden. He certainly has the survival skills to travel back around the globe and carve a place for himself anywhere. Hernan Diaz has crafted an unforgettable story, although not one that is tied up neatly or has many happy or uplifting scenes. In the Distance is an example of a book that I most likely would not have read if I did not participate in ŷ groups on a regular basis. I have come to anticipate these monthly zoom meetings as one of the highlights of my year and it seems like something that will be sustained going forward. I wonder what book will be suggested at the next meeting that is a can not miss that we all jump to read together. If this next story is as compelling as Hakan’s I am sure that it will be one of the highlights of my reading year.
4 stars *
* This book was difficult for me to rate. At some points I was wavering on 3 because the story was so frustrating; yet, the writing and discussion we had were excellent. That alone bumps this to the 4+ range.
Hakan Soderstrom grew up with his family in Sweden. Although it was a rural and for the most part impoverished life, it was all he ever knew. One day, the family’s mare gave birth to twins and the father sold one of them to try to pay off a creditor. Then he had second thoughts, hiding the remaining horses and told his sons Linus and Hakan to take the money and go to America. Hopefully, the boys would have a better life there, even though life in Sweden seemed to be blissful for teenager Hakan. He had barely heard of America, and, yet, he was on his way to begin an epic journey to the other side of the world. If Hakan and Linus had arrived in New York as planned and started a path to a better life for themselves, In the Distance would have been another immigrant experience book, although it is a genre I enjoy reading. On the ship dock in England, Hakan is separated from Linus. Readers never know if Linus arrives in New York safely or not, as his memory becomes fleeting over time. In rudimentary English, Hakan boards a ship bound for California, far from Linus, New York, and most other Swedish settlers in the United States. Inexperienced in life, Hakan would have to make do in a new country on his own.
Hakan lands in a California thick in gold fever. It is the early 1850s and the first settlers have arrived west after hearing about gold in the hills. Hakan latches on with a family Brennan from Ireland, but this becomes fleeting as well, as Hakan is taken captive by saloon owners who desire him for his massive size. In this saloon, he is paired with a woman and becomes a man although not by choice. This is just the first of the unhappy memories that befalls Hakan in America, but eventually he escapes. He then meets up with a naturalist named John Lorimer who was attracted to the second great awakening movement and does not believe in organized religion. Hakan was brought up in a religious home and questions Lorimer’s beliefs are first, but it is with Lorimer that he learns how to survive in the wilderness- how to hunt and skin animals, boil water, build a basic shelter, and care for a horse and burro. These skills would hopefully allow Hakan to reach New York, which early on in his journey was still his goal, to be reunited with Linus and start on a path to a better life. Destiny had different plans for Hakan. As time moved on, Linus became a fleeting memory, and all Hakan wanted to do was survive. Thankfully, he had the skills to do so.
Lorimer introduces Hakan to a Native American medicine man who taught him how to treat all types of wounds, yet another skill that would allow him to survive the west. Lorimer’s destiny is with the salt flats of the southwest but he advises Hakan to travel north until he reaches the Oregon trail and to travel in the opposite direction. It might take a few long, arduous months, but the trail moves in a straight line and eventually he would reach New York. Here, Hakan meets good men and swindlers alike, and his exploits turned into mythic proportions. On the trail, the settlers are ambushed by Mormon brethren who would not allow anyone else to settle in their new territory of Utah. A fight ensues and Hakan, who has now grown to his full adult height holds off and kills as many Mormons as possible. The settlers laud him as a hero, but the Brethren back in Illinois territory are not too happy with him, forcing Hakan to live the rest of his life on the run, in solitude, New York becoming more of an idea than a reality. In his shelters, Hakan kills animals for survival and begins to sew himself a fur coat of pelts. People hear of the giant “Hawk� who killed all those men, and it is in his years of solitude that his legend grows into a legend and reaches all over the west. His life begins to grow into a great adventure story but not one that anyone would want for themselves. Despite being able to survive for years in the wilderness, Hakan is forced to live away from humanity for the duration of the novel, Linus becoming a memory of the past.
Hernan Diaz has constructed a story that shows that the immigrant experience of the 19th century was not all streets paved with gold and dollars growing from trees. Immigrants began arriving in the mid 19th century to better themselves; however, for those moving west, the land was still largely unsettled and full of dangers. Diaz� writing was fast paced and compelling and I can see how this would attract Pulitzer voters (it was a runner up) as this is an original take on both a western and immigration novel. Maybe it was all the horrors that happened to Hakan over the years and the lies that turned into mythic proportions that spread about him. I didn’t necessarily need him to reunite with his brother. That would have been too farfetched and a happy ending that does not fit this book. I would have liked to see him have some happiness but his was short lived. When I read an immigration story, I’m looking to see the immigrant achieve the American Dream and that does not happen here in the traditional sense, so Hakan’s story leaves a sour taste in my mouth even though the writing was excellent. This may be Diaz� point: that to this day, the immigrant experience is not easy, is not immediately stepping off the boat or plane into a better life. Hakan Soderstrom and his epic story embody this as well as the immigrant stories I have read over the years that show new Americans from all over the world finding instant happiness in their new nation. After all of journeys, Hakan is as much of a western American as all of the immigrant stories with happy endings.
One day perhaps Hakan reunites with Linus, either in New York or in Sweden. He certainly has the survival skills to travel back around the globe and carve a place for himself anywhere. Hernan Diaz has crafted an unforgettable story, although not one that is tied up neatly or has many happy or uplifting scenes. In the Distance is an example of a book that I most likely would not have read if I did not participate in ŷ groups on a regular basis. I have come to anticipate these monthly zoom meetings as one of the highlights of my year and it seems like something that will be sustained going forward. I wonder what book will be suggested at the next meeting that is a can not miss that we all jump to read together. If this next story is as compelling as Hakan’s I am sure that it will be one of the highlights of my reading year.
4 stars *
* This book was difficult for me to rate. At some points I was wavering on 3 because the story was so frustrating; yet, the writing and discussion we had were excellent. That alone bumps this to the 4+ range.
December 23, 2019
"Silence and solitude had clouded his perception of time. A year and an instant are equivalent in a monotonous life."
.
IN THE DISTANCE by Hernan Diaz
When I finished this book last week, I knew I'd read one of the best novels I've come across in years... Maybe in my entire life. It hasn't left my mind since.
This tale of Håkan, a young Swedish man coming to the western US in the 1850s is a contemplative story of longing, solitude, strength. The story is deeply allegorical, with writing so pure it brought tears to my eyes on several occasions. Diaz created characters and a history that I was instantly invested in, even within the first few pages of the novel.
As each day goes by, I appreciate this novel more. It continues to teach me long after I finished reading.
.
IN THE DISTANCE by Hernan Diaz
When I finished this book last week, I knew I'd read one of the best novels I've come across in years... Maybe in my entire life. It hasn't left my mind since.
This tale of Håkan, a young Swedish man coming to the western US in the 1850s is a contemplative story of longing, solitude, strength. The story is deeply allegorical, with writing so pure it brought tears to my eyes on several occasions. Diaz created characters and a history that I was instantly invested in, even within the first few pages of the novel.
As each day goes by, I appreciate this novel more. It continues to teach me long after I finished reading.
May 5, 2021
There are two things I really love about this book - the opportunity to see humanity through the eyes of a nearly feral man of immense tenderness, strength and conscience, and the wonder of Diaz's writing. This is a debut novel that must have spent many years in gestation. I think that the title and the cover capture its essence beautifully - a kind of endless journey that goes everywhere and nowhere. I don't think anyone could finish this book and not feel the most profound love for Hakan. Thanks to the Tournament of Books longlist for putting this book under my nose.
Here's just a few examples of the writing that dazzled me.
A tiny window into Hakan:
“Each time he consulted the silver compass, he caught a partial glimpse of his face reflected on the clouded lid, which his fingers had darkened over time. He always looked at his teeth first. With their untainted whiteness they were the only part of his body that reminded him of who he used to be. As soon as he shut his mouth, those relics vanished under the yellow and orange disorder of his beard. He was alway stunned to find that brutal thing on his face." (pg. 155)
Hakan's thoughts after he sees other humans for the first time in years:
"Those flailing arms sticking out of the upright trunk. Those legs like ridiculous scissors. Those forward-facing eyes on that flat face with that beakless, snoutless hole for a mouth. And the gestures. Hands, nose, mouth, lips. So many gestures. Those misshapen and misplaced features and their wasteful and obscene movements. He thought nothing could be more grotesque than those forms. His next thought was that he looked just like them. Then he ran for his gun.�
Here's just a few examples of the writing that dazzled me.
A tiny window into Hakan:
“Each time he consulted the silver compass, he caught a partial glimpse of his face reflected on the clouded lid, which his fingers had darkened over time. He always looked at his teeth first. With their untainted whiteness they were the only part of his body that reminded him of who he used to be. As soon as he shut his mouth, those relics vanished under the yellow and orange disorder of his beard. He was alway stunned to find that brutal thing on his face." (pg. 155)
Hakan's thoughts after he sees other humans for the first time in years:
"Those flailing arms sticking out of the upright trunk. Those legs like ridiculous scissors. Those forward-facing eyes on that flat face with that beakless, snoutless hole for a mouth. And the gestures. Hands, nose, mouth, lips. So many gestures. Those misshapen and misplaced features and their wasteful and obscene movements. He thought nothing could be more grotesque than those forms. His next thought was that he looked just like them. Then he ran for his gun.�
March 15, 2018
What a little gem of a novel hidden away in the Tournament of Books longlist. It's a Western in as much as it is set in the "West" but to quote the author
There are many fossilized moments of the Western genre that appear throughout the novel, but I tried to disappoint and go against them. I wanted to write a book that relies on the Western tradition but ultimately subverts it.
I found it such a contrast reading this a few months after tackling Lonesome Dove, a literal and figurative giant of the genre. Landscapes are really the only thing the two novels share and even then Diaz keeps it deliberately vague. We know our protagonist, Hakan, essentially roams in solitude for much of the novel through vast deserts, and plains but few place names are attached. Likewise he meets characters who occasionally are named but are mostly just transitory.
This is a novel of solitude. A Western very much from the point of view of an "outsider" or at least one who see's himself as other. In this way this is such a perfect example of an immigrant experience story. I don't think I have read another book that conveys so well being in a country where you don't speak the language. For a good portion of the novel Hakan intuit's the meaning of conversations by expressions and gestures and Daiz passes this along to the reader by not allowing us the dialogue either. I thought that was a master stroke.
More from the author on this -
The experience of foreignness has determined my entire life. I wanted to re-create that feeling. In doing so, I tried to transcend the obvious fact that the protagonist is a foreigner. I tried to make genre and even language itself feel foreign. But at the same time, this is a very American story, which makes us remember that foreignness is part of the American experience to begin with. All of that is weaved into the book, and it’s central to what I was trying to say.
In the Distance is a deeply affecting novel if you let yourself into it, it took me a few chapters to warm to it. I also had some areas of concern. Namely, the conveniently placed science - Hakan hears about evolutionary theory from a traveling naturalist, comes to be an expert animal dissector, does a complex operation on a horse, learns sterile surgical techniques, observes upside down images as light through a pinhole, (if he had the resources I am sure he would have invented photography). He digs himself a complex underground hideout complete with what seemed like a hinged roof system. I mean, yes, it is awesome to read about these exploits but it started to weigh on my mind how implausible all this was. Hakan became a fabled giant miraculously acquiring whatever skills he needed for survival but oddly learning to follow a compass was not one of them ?
These are quibbles, mostly this is very good and I would love to see it on film. It would be 2 hours of mostly just a man riding through a desert and I think it could be stunning.
( Note for film makers, Alexander Skarsgard as Hakan please. Soundtrack by Nick Cave similar to what he did for the film The Proposition )
There are many fossilized moments of the Western genre that appear throughout the novel, but I tried to disappoint and go against them. I wanted to write a book that relies on the Western tradition but ultimately subverts it.
I found it such a contrast reading this a few months after tackling Lonesome Dove, a literal and figurative giant of the genre. Landscapes are really the only thing the two novels share and even then Diaz keeps it deliberately vague. We know our protagonist, Hakan, essentially roams in solitude for much of the novel through vast deserts, and plains but few place names are attached. Likewise he meets characters who occasionally are named but are mostly just transitory.
This is a novel of solitude. A Western very much from the point of view of an "outsider" or at least one who see's himself as other. In this way this is such a perfect example of an immigrant experience story. I don't think I have read another book that conveys so well being in a country where you don't speak the language. For a good portion of the novel Hakan intuit's the meaning of conversations by expressions and gestures and Daiz passes this along to the reader by not allowing us the dialogue either. I thought that was a master stroke.
More from the author on this -
The experience of foreignness has determined my entire life. I wanted to re-create that feeling. In doing so, I tried to transcend the obvious fact that the protagonist is a foreigner. I tried to make genre and even language itself feel foreign. But at the same time, this is a very American story, which makes us remember that foreignness is part of the American experience to begin with. All of that is weaved into the book, and it’s central to what I was trying to say.
In the Distance is a deeply affecting novel if you let yourself into it, it took me a few chapters to warm to it. I also had some areas of concern. Namely, the conveniently placed science - Hakan hears about evolutionary theory from a traveling naturalist, comes to be an expert animal dissector, does a complex operation on a horse, learns sterile surgical techniques, observes upside down images as light through a pinhole, (if he had the resources I am sure he would have invented photography). He digs himself a complex underground hideout complete with what seemed like a hinged roof system. I mean, yes, it is awesome to read about these exploits but it started to weigh on my mind how implausible all this was. Hakan became a fabled giant miraculously acquiring whatever skills he needed for survival but oddly learning to follow a compass was not one of them ?
These are quibbles, mostly this is very good and I would love to see it on film. It would be 2 hours of mostly just a man riding through a desert and I think it could be stunning.
( Note for film makers, Alexander Skarsgard as Hakan please. Soundtrack by Nick Cave similar to what he did for the film The Proposition )
November 4, 2024
An Adventurous Life
of Misadventures...
IN THE DISTANCE
by Herman Diaz
No spoilers. 4 stars. I would classify this tale as an adventure. The setting is early America, during the gold rush...
Haken (The Hawk) and his brother Linus board a ship from Sweden sailing to New York...
Both just young boys, their parents gave them all the family money to start a new life in America...
But...
When the ship docked, the boys got off at the wrong port, and walking the streets, they soon became separated from each other...
This story follows Haken as he reboards the ship alone and finds himself deposited on the wrong coast...
He has landed in California where panning for gold is the madness of the times and far away from New York and his brother...
Haken determines to walk across America and find his brother, who he is sure is waiting for him there...
Haken is taken under wing by different people along his journey who all teach him something different and essential to his survival...
As time goes on...
Haken grows unusually big and tall, which causes him trouble when he is wrongfully accused of murdering church folk along the trail...
This was quite an adventure. I removed a star because about a third of the way through, the story began literally repeating itself. This may have been an editing error because I've never seen that kind of error before.
In some ways, the protagonist in this story and the story itself were similar to PERFUME: THE STORY OF A MURDERER by Patrick Suskind (also a very good book).
of Misadventures...
IN THE DISTANCE
by Herman Diaz
No spoilers. 4 stars. I would classify this tale as an adventure. The setting is early America, during the gold rush...
Haken (The Hawk) and his brother Linus board a ship from Sweden sailing to New York...
Both just young boys, their parents gave them all the family money to start a new life in America...
But...
When the ship docked, the boys got off at the wrong port, and walking the streets, they soon became separated from each other...
This story follows Haken as he reboards the ship alone and finds himself deposited on the wrong coast...
He has landed in California where panning for gold is the madness of the times and far away from New York and his brother...
Haken determines to walk across America and find his brother, who he is sure is waiting for him there...
Haken is taken under wing by different people along his journey who all teach him something different and essential to his survival...
As time goes on...
Haken grows unusually big and tall, which causes him trouble when he is wrongfully accused of murdering church folk along the trail...
This was quite an adventure. I removed a star because about a third of the way through, the story began literally repeating itself. This may have been an editing error because I've never seen that kind of error before.
In some ways, the protagonist in this story and the story itself were similar to PERFUME: THE STORY OF A MURDERER by Patrick Suskind (also a very good book).
August 9, 2019
3�
I'm wondering if I would have done better with a hard copy. The narrator was too dramatic with his reading for my tastes. Also this may have been a bit too pulitzer-prize-ish for my current reading interests. It was very big on descriptions over long geographical miles and not drawing me in with an emotional connection. It was very authentic and interesting in many passages but in the end I was too tired to appreciate the journey more and felt very distanced.
I'm wondering if I would have done better with a hard copy. The narrator was too dramatic with his reading for my tastes. Also this may have been a bit too pulitzer-prize-ish for my current reading interests. It was very big on descriptions over long geographical miles and not drawing me in with an emotional connection. It was very authentic and interesting in many passages but in the end I was too tired to appreciate the journey more and felt very distanced.
May 6, 2020
Håkan did this. Then he did that. He travelled to here. Then travelled to there.
Pause to enumerate everything in sight as often as possible.
Repeat aimlessly.
Pause to enumerate everything in sight as often as possible.
Repeat aimlessly.
October 30, 2023
As estações iam e voltavam e as ocupações de Hakan nunca se alteravam. Um telhado metia água. Havia que montar armadilhas. Um escoadouro estava entupido. Algumas placas da parede tinham caído. Havia que encher de terra uma vala abandonada. O capote precisava de ser remendado. Uma trincheira tinha desabado. Era preciso ir apanhar lenha. Era necessário construir um prolongamento numa galeria antiga. Tinha de ir buscar água potável. Era preciso construir uma nova ferramenta. Tinha de secar uma parte da carne antes que apodrecesse. As lajes do chão tinham-se soltado. Uma conduta de couro estava rota. Precisava de ferver mais cola. Antes que uma destas tarefas estivesse concluída, já a seguinte requeria a sua atenção, pelo que estava sempre ocupado num destes trabalhos, que em conjunto, com o tempo, formavam um círculo, ou melhor, uma espécie de padrão que, ainda que invisível aos seus olhos, se repetia, disso tinha a certeza, a intervalos regulares. Estas obrigações recorrentes tornavam todos os dias parecidos, e em cada dia, do nascer ao pôr do Sol, eram poucos os marcos que permitiam dividir o tempo."
Hakan é um homem que apetece levar pela mão e deixar num sítio protegido, coberto com um mantinha e com uma caneca de chá quentinho. Apesar do seu tamanho, que o poderia ter livrado de um dos acontecimentos que mais me deram pena no livro, deixou-se ficar. Depois, foi sempre ficando mais e mais sozinho e a viver uma rotina que ia preenchendo os seus dias até que esse rame rame foi alterado e o fez mudar de rota.
É curioso como um livro que nos conta a vida de um homem que, após alguns acontecimentos menos felizes, andou anos e anos pelo deserto, pradarias, estepes e canhões (?!) americanos consegue ser interessante. Esta história teria tudo para ser enfadonha, mas tal não se verifica. Um feito destes deve-se, sem dúvida, à escrita do autor, que nos agarra e envolve. Faz-nos querer descobrir como Hakan chegou ao navio em que se encontra no início da narrativa.
Hakan, que nunca tinha visto um globo, andou à volta dele, tentando reconstituir a sua longa viagem e verificando como todas aquelas terras se uniam num círculo.
Afinal, por mais voltas que se dêem, a vida é um círculo e, na maior parte das vezes termina no mesmo local em que começou.
#outubrohispanoamericano
(Eu nem sou muito de reparar nestas coisas mas, primeiro que percebesse o que era o canhão onde Hakan se embrenhou... Canyon, senhores, não é canhão, pelo menos no contexto apresentado. Enfim...)
Hakan é um homem que apetece levar pela mão e deixar num sítio protegido, coberto com um mantinha e com uma caneca de chá quentinho. Apesar do seu tamanho, que o poderia ter livrado de um dos acontecimentos que mais me deram pena no livro, deixou-se ficar. Depois, foi sempre ficando mais e mais sozinho e a viver uma rotina que ia preenchendo os seus dias até que esse rame rame foi alterado e o fez mudar de rota.
É curioso como um livro que nos conta a vida de um homem que, após alguns acontecimentos menos felizes, andou anos e anos pelo deserto, pradarias, estepes e canhões (?!) americanos consegue ser interessante. Esta história teria tudo para ser enfadonha, mas tal não se verifica. Um feito destes deve-se, sem dúvida, à escrita do autor, que nos agarra e envolve. Faz-nos querer descobrir como Hakan chegou ao navio em que se encontra no início da narrativa.
Hakan, que nunca tinha visto um globo, andou à volta dele, tentando reconstituir a sua longa viagem e verificando como todas aquelas terras se uniam num círculo.
Afinal, por mais voltas que se dêem, a vida é um círculo e, na maior parte das vezes termina no mesmo local em que começou.
#outubrohispanoamericano
(Eu nem sou muito de reparar nestas coisas mas, primeiro que percebesse o que era o canhão onde Hakan se embrenhou... Canyon, senhores, não é canhão, pelo menos no contexto apresentado. Enfim...)
June 29, 2020
4.25ish stars.
As pointed out in the publisher's blurb as well as other reviews, this is a hard book to categorize. It's a Western without cowboys. It's a coming-of-age story without much self-discovery. It's a character study without any internal examination. It's historical fiction but feels like it transcends space and time. Which is kind of the point. One of the book’s biggest themes is foreignness and not belonging, so it makes sense that the book itself doesn't quite belong to any genre either.
Diaz's talent is admirable. His writing is stately and solemn which makes the book engaging despite the fact that it follows a singular man whose thoughts and emotions we only ever observe from a distance.
Every book chapter represents a separate life chapter for our hero, Håkan, with each one finding him in a different part of the American frontier. It's kind of a mixed bag from chapter to chapter in terms of how much actually happens. Some chapters involve other people, both Good and Evil, including a particularly touching bond Håkan forms with a man who rescues him from a corrupt sheriff. Other chapters... don't. Some are literally just Håkan roaming the wilderness alone beside his horse and burro. One chapter in particular is 14 pages of him being alone and lonely, dissociated from time and reality, thoughts circling and repeating almost verbatim on the page because, well, dissociated from time and reality. Despite the beautiful writing and the clever, valid conceptualization, it's still 14 pages of him being alone and lonely.
Still, it's not a particularly long book and doesn't feel longer than it should despite its Homeric themes. A unique, unconventional portrait of the American West as a metaphor for the journey of life itself.
As pointed out in the publisher's blurb as well as other reviews, this is a hard book to categorize. It's a Western without cowboys. It's a coming-of-age story without much self-discovery. It's a character study without any internal examination. It's historical fiction but feels like it transcends space and time. Which is kind of the point. One of the book’s biggest themes is foreignness and not belonging, so it makes sense that the book itself doesn't quite belong to any genre either.
Diaz's talent is admirable. His writing is stately and solemn which makes the book engaging despite the fact that it follows a singular man whose thoughts and emotions we only ever observe from a distance.
Every book chapter represents a separate life chapter for our hero, Håkan, with each one finding him in a different part of the American frontier. It's kind of a mixed bag from chapter to chapter in terms of how much actually happens. Some chapters involve other people, both Good and Evil, including a particularly touching bond Håkan forms with a man who rescues him from a corrupt sheriff. Other chapters... don't. Some are literally just Håkan roaming the wilderness alone beside his horse and burro. One chapter in particular is 14 pages of him being alone and lonely, dissociated from time and reality, thoughts circling and repeating almost verbatim on the page because, well, dissociated from time and reality. Despite the beautiful writing and the clever, valid conceptualization, it's still 14 pages of him being alone and lonely.
Still, it's not a particularly long book and doesn't feel longer than it should despite its Homeric themes. A unique, unconventional portrait of the American West as a metaphor for the journey of life itself.
October 29, 2018
Emigrating from Sweden to America, Håkan becomes separated from his brother (Linus) when they disembark in Portsmouth England, and he ends up on the Pacific coast, rather than in New York. His life is devoted to aimless wandering, theoretically east towards NY to find his brother. Håkan is a genetic freak, suffering from giantism. Along the way, he meets up with a wide variety of characters, most of whom take shameless advantage of him, and his heroism backfires, making him a notorious outlaw. Nice cover, decent writing, mediocre story, overly narrated, forgettable characters. How could this have been a Pulitzer finalist?
February 28, 2019
Why is the name of the author upside down on the cover there?
Because the image is a reverse copy of itself. Not a shimmering reflection in a still lake, but a deliberate perfect mirror with seam undetectable.
And neither is this a mere whim of the designer: in Håkan's one permanent home, a warren of burrows beneath the surface of the earth and roofed by pine, an attempt he makes to waterproof a roof section with tarpaulin creates a camera obscura.
Is Håkan merely looking into that dream?
No, he is a part of it. He himself has passed through that pinhole.
Why can this never be his place?
He is entrapped and exploited by those who would use him to their own nefarious ends. He is driven by his hopeless quest to find the brother he was parted from on the voyage over. The first delicate tendrils of love are withered by lawlessness and violence. By the time he reaches the east, he has already turned into a mythological being, a gigantic monster of epic strength and legendary ruthlessness, an image so at odds with his true self that he can no longer be with other people, for no-one can see him any more, only the legendary figure he has been turned into by story telling, passed on from lip to mouth.
The novel's structure too displays the mirroring, it starts and ends with Håkan as an old man, in the white wastelands of ice, a liminal space, emerging from a ritual bath to renew and re-invent himself. The journey of his life too is circular, bringing him round and back to Clangston. There is no progress from depravity and lawlessness to something more ordered, Clangston has only become bigger and busier, the extortion and chicanery more widespread and banal. The cycle might have been endless but for his visit to a kind of paradise where there is one single person who sees in him the generous and kindly human being instead of the mythical monster.
Håkan will stay with me for a long time.
Because the image is a reverse copy of itself. Not a shimmering reflection in a still lake, but a deliberate perfect mirror with seam undetectable.
And neither is this a mere whim of the designer: in Håkan's one permanent home, a warren of burrows beneath the surface of the earth and roofed by pine, an attempt he makes to waterproof a roof section with tarpaulin creates a camera obscura.
After securing a few pieces of leather and tarpaulin to the protruding structure, he climbed down into the hole to inspect the results. To his complete bewilderment, on one of the walls he saw an image of the sun setting amongst the treetops-upside down. A perfect picture of the world outside the hole. In lifelike colors. And it moved. The trees swayed ; birds flew by; the sun continued its descending course. Upward. It felt like someone else's hallucination; as if someone, far away, were dreaming up that place (wrong side up), and Håkan, for some reason, were able to look into that dream.
Is Håkan merely looking into that dream?
No, he is a part of it. He himself has passed through that pinhole.
But although he had spent the greatest part of his life in those prairies, deserts, and mountains, he was still unable to feel that they were his own. After thousands of nights under those same stars, he woke up as many thousands of mornings under that same sun and trudged for as many thousands of days under the same sky, always feeling out of place. That land - its beasts and plants - had fed him for such a long time that it had become, in a strict sense, part of his body. If Lorimer was right, the vastness around him was now his flesh. And yet, nothing - not the countless footsteps taken or knowledge acquired, not the adversaries bested or the friends made, not the love felt or the blood shed - had made it his. Except for his brother, there was little he missed about his Swedish childhood, but sometimes he thought that the brief period (which, compared to the long and eventful years that had followed it, was so short that he had yielded to the illusion of believing that he could remember every single day spent at the farm since he was old enough to be aware of his surroundings) was like a pinhole in the unending expanse, and everything - the plains, the mountains, the cañons, the salt flats, the forests - had drained down through it. Immense as they were, those territories had never held him or embraced him - not even when he dug into the ground and found shelter in the earth's bosom. Anyone he met, including children, had, in his eyes, more right to be in that land than he did. Nothing was his; nothing claimed him. He had gone into the wilderness with the intention of coming out on the other end. That he had stopped trying did not mean that this was now his place.
Why can this never be his place?
He is entrapped and exploited by those who would use him to their own nefarious ends. He is driven by his hopeless quest to find the brother he was parted from on the voyage over. The first delicate tendrils of love are withered by lawlessness and violence. By the time he reaches the east, he has already turned into a mythological being, a gigantic monster of epic strength and legendary ruthlessness, an image so at odds with his true self that he can no longer be with other people, for no-one can see him any more, only the legendary figure he has been turned into by story telling, passed on from lip to mouth.
The novel's structure too displays the mirroring, it starts and ends with Håkan as an old man, in the white wastelands of ice, a liminal space, emerging from a ritual bath to renew and re-invent himself. The journey of his life too is circular, bringing him round and back to Clangston. There is no progress from depravity and lawlessness to something more ordered, Clangston has only become bigger and busier, the extortion and chicanery more widespread and banal. The cycle might have been endless but for his visit to a kind of paradise where there is one single person who sees in him the generous and kindly human being instead of the mythical monster.
Håkan will stay with me for a long time.
October 21, 2022
Hakan apercebeu-se então de que sempre tinha pensado que aqueles vastos territórios estavam desertos � estava convencido de que só eram habitados no curto período de tempo em que os viajantes os atravessavam e, tal como o oceano na esteira de um navio, a solidão voltava a fechar-se depois da passagem dos cavaleiros. Apercebeu-se também de que todos aqueles viajantes, incluindo ele, eram, na realidade, intrusos.
“Ao Longe� presta-se a muitas leituras que se sustêm numa amálgama de referências que dependerão em parte da bagagem cultural e cinematográfica de cada leitor, e isso tudo, numa obra de estreia, é admirável.
Se esta obra fosse um filme, a sua banda sonora teria de ser composta por Ennio Morricone, o que é obviamente agora uma impossibilidade, e talvez realizado por Jim Jarmusch. Seria uma película intimista com cenários esplendorosos e personagens magnéticas, mas não nos permitiria ver a belíssima prosa de Hernán Díaz, frase a frase, que exprime de modo notável o estado de espírito do protagonista em antagonismo com o meio.
Bastava-lhe olhar para aquelas extensões planas para que a bola na garganta se adensasse, e tornou-se mais dura e mais asfixiante quando começou a atravessar a estepe. O castanho, as colinas, o murmúrio, a luz intensa, a poeira, os cascos, o horizonte, a erva, as mãos, o horizonte, o castanho, o murmúrio, o céu, o vento, a erva causavam-lhe vertigens. Às vezes tentava obrigar-se a vomitar, mas só sentia as veias da cabeça a inchar e ameaçar rebentar com o esforço. Algumas ocorrências sem importância interrompiam a monotonia nauseante � um bisonte, um arco-íris, mas, quando desapareciam, o mal-estar voltava com força renovada.
O jovem Hakan parte da Suécia com o irmão mais velho, rumo a Nova Iorque, mas no porto de Inglaterra perdem-se um do outro e Hakan acaba por viajar num navio que aporta do outro lado do continente americano, na Califórnia. Hakan não fala inglês nem sabe como chegar a Nova Iorque, mas é esse o seu único propósito, reunir-se com o irmão, percorrendo vastas regiões não especificadas, que só tentamos localizar pela descrição � planícies, montanhas, desertos, pradarias � durante um tempo indeterminado, que vamos adivinhando pela passagem sucessiva das estações e pelas mudanças físicas do protagonista.
Até então, Hakan havia viajado para se afastar do passado, mas sem se aproximar do futuro. Tinha ficado num perpétuo presente, deixando para trás paisagens e pessoas mas nunca avançando para um destino mais ou menos claro que pudesse antever. Nova Iorque, o seu único verdadeiro objetivo, era tão abstrata e fantástica como uma cidade numa qualquer Lua distante, nunca um destino suficientemente claro no seu espírito para poder sentir o desejo de lá chegar. Até então, só havia viajado de um presente para outro.
“Ao Longe� é uma história de imigração e de formação, mas é também um western, género onde sempre torci pelos inadaptados, pelos perseguidos e pelos incapacitados. Hakan é, seguindo esse paradigma do pária, um gigante bondoso incapaz de usar a sua força contra os outros excepto numa ocasião que o marcará para sempre.
Agora, que tinha experimentado pessoalmente a violência, Hakan percebia que todos aqueles contos que ouvira em criança eram decerto inventados. Ninguém podia cometer nem testemunhar aqueles atos de barbaridade com tamanha descontração. (...) Porque Hakan estava convencido de que havia pecado. Não contra deus, em cuja difusa presença quase já não pensava, mas contra a santidade do corpo humano na qual tão recentemente fora iniciado.
E como bom western, não lhe faltam um xerife corrupto, caçadores de cabeças, garimpeiros, índios, uma vilã pérfida e sádica digna de Cormac McCarthy e até uma piscadela de olho a “Brokeback Mountain�.
Por outro lado, encontramos aqui o mito do Bom Selvagem, alguém que prefere o isolamento...
Nada ressoava. A vida só existia como um murmúrio. Os sons fortes eram amortecidos, cedendo o lugar ao roçagar da tela e ao ranger do couro. (...) Sempre que Hakan tossia ou dizia uma palavra em voz alta, a voz soava-lhe monstruosa.
... à sociedade sórdida que o corrompe.
O fedor da civilização atingiu-o como uma massa sólida, não como um vapor: um cheiro ao mesmo tempo escorregadio e peganhento, penetrante e espesso. (...) Carne rançosa, fezes, leite azedo, suor, papas de milho, vinagre, dentes podres, toucinho, levedura, legumes em fermentação, urina, banha derretida, café, doenças, cera, mofo, sangue, caldo.
Tornando-se um eremita inesquecível por força das circunstâncias ou da sua própria natureza.
Aquele ser calado, hesitante, era simplesmente quem ele era ou em quem se tinha tornado.
“Ao Longe� presta-se a muitas leituras que se sustêm numa amálgama de referências que dependerão em parte da bagagem cultural e cinematográfica de cada leitor, e isso tudo, numa obra de estreia, é admirável.
Se esta obra fosse um filme, a sua banda sonora teria de ser composta por Ennio Morricone, o que é obviamente agora uma impossibilidade, e talvez realizado por Jim Jarmusch. Seria uma película intimista com cenários esplendorosos e personagens magnéticas, mas não nos permitiria ver a belíssima prosa de Hernán Díaz, frase a frase, que exprime de modo notável o estado de espírito do protagonista em antagonismo com o meio.
Bastava-lhe olhar para aquelas extensões planas para que a bola na garganta se adensasse, e tornou-se mais dura e mais asfixiante quando começou a atravessar a estepe. O castanho, as colinas, o murmúrio, a luz intensa, a poeira, os cascos, o horizonte, a erva, as mãos, o horizonte, o castanho, o murmúrio, o céu, o vento, a erva causavam-lhe vertigens. Às vezes tentava obrigar-se a vomitar, mas só sentia as veias da cabeça a inchar e ameaçar rebentar com o esforço. Algumas ocorrências sem importância interrompiam a monotonia nauseante � um bisonte, um arco-íris, mas, quando desapareciam, o mal-estar voltava com força renovada.
O jovem Hakan parte da Suécia com o irmão mais velho, rumo a Nova Iorque, mas no porto de Inglaterra perdem-se um do outro e Hakan acaba por viajar num navio que aporta do outro lado do continente americano, na Califórnia. Hakan não fala inglês nem sabe como chegar a Nova Iorque, mas é esse o seu único propósito, reunir-se com o irmão, percorrendo vastas regiões não especificadas, que só tentamos localizar pela descrição � planícies, montanhas, desertos, pradarias � durante um tempo indeterminado, que vamos adivinhando pela passagem sucessiva das estações e pelas mudanças físicas do protagonista.
Até então, Hakan havia viajado para se afastar do passado, mas sem se aproximar do futuro. Tinha ficado num perpétuo presente, deixando para trás paisagens e pessoas mas nunca avançando para um destino mais ou menos claro que pudesse antever. Nova Iorque, o seu único verdadeiro objetivo, era tão abstrata e fantástica como uma cidade numa qualquer Lua distante, nunca um destino suficientemente claro no seu espírito para poder sentir o desejo de lá chegar. Até então, só havia viajado de um presente para outro.
“Ao Longe� é uma história de imigração e de formação, mas é também um western, género onde sempre torci pelos inadaptados, pelos perseguidos e pelos incapacitados. Hakan é, seguindo esse paradigma do pária, um gigante bondoso incapaz de usar a sua força contra os outros excepto numa ocasião que o marcará para sempre.
Agora, que tinha experimentado pessoalmente a violência, Hakan percebia que todos aqueles contos que ouvira em criança eram decerto inventados. Ninguém podia cometer nem testemunhar aqueles atos de barbaridade com tamanha descontração. (...) Porque Hakan estava convencido de que havia pecado. Não contra deus, em cuja difusa presença quase já não pensava, mas contra a santidade do corpo humano na qual tão recentemente fora iniciado.
E como bom western, não lhe faltam um xerife corrupto, caçadores de cabeças, garimpeiros, índios, uma vilã pérfida e sádica digna de Cormac McCarthy e até uma piscadela de olho a “Brokeback Mountain�.
Por outro lado, encontramos aqui o mito do Bom Selvagem, alguém que prefere o isolamento...
Nada ressoava. A vida só existia como um murmúrio. Os sons fortes eram amortecidos, cedendo o lugar ao roçagar da tela e ao ranger do couro. (...) Sempre que Hakan tossia ou dizia uma palavra em voz alta, a voz soava-lhe monstruosa.
... à sociedade sórdida que o corrompe.
O fedor da civilização atingiu-o como uma massa sólida, não como um vapor: um cheiro ao mesmo tempo escorregadio e peganhento, penetrante e espesso. (...) Carne rançosa, fezes, leite azedo, suor, papas de milho, vinagre, dentes podres, toucinho, levedura, legumes em fermentação, urina, banha derretida, café, doenças, cera, mofo, sangue, caldo.
Tornando-se um eremita inesquecível por força das circunstâncias ou da sua própria natureza.
Aquele ser calado, hesitante, era simplesmente quem ele era ou em quem se tinha tornado.
May 1, 2019
This turned out to be a great choice for me. The lead character, Håkan, spends his boyhood in rural Sweden in the mid-19th century. He idolises his older brother Linus, who is protective of him. The boys are supposed to catch an emigrant ship travelling to New York, but they get separated and Håkan mistakenly boards a ship for San Francisco. Arriving in California, he decides to cross the continent to find his brother, but events force him to spend years meandering around the western part of America, where he becomes a semi-mythical figure.
I read that the real-life author was born in Buenos Aires but grew up in Sweden between the ages of 2 and 9, where his parents lived as political refugees from the Argentine Junta. Swedish was his first language. He couldn’t settle in Buenos Aires after his parents returned to live there, and as a young man moved first to London and then to New York. There are obvious parallels between Håkan’s travels and the author’s own roundabout journey between Sweden and the United States. A big theme of this book is “not belonging� (for want of a better phrase). In his wanderings, Håkan never feels that he belongs in any one place, nor to any one group of people. He has no English when he first arrives in America and has to infer meaning from gestures or tone of voice. The author skilfully lets the reader experience this from Håkan’s perspective. Again, is this an echo of the author’s own experiences in coming to terms with Spanish and English? He clearly has a love of language, particularly descriptive nouns, and had me reaching for the dictionary on several occasions. The description of Håkan’s first encounter with a wagon train is incredibly vivid. I’ve no idea how accurate it is, but it’s vivid!
Speaking of wagon trains, Håkan’s journey is obviously from west to east. In the novel he heads north from California to find the main emigrant trail (the Oregon Trail?) which he intends to follow east. Even in the novel, he notes that he is travelling counter to the flow of emigrants. It seems to me that in the American tradition, the migration west represented a new life, putting the past behind you, and becoming independent, beholden to no one else. In his west to east journey, Håkan seems to be trying for the opposite - to grab onto the past, to find Linus and to regain his love and protection.
The novel is mainly realist though there are elements that border on the surreal or the fantastic. Sometimes that can jar with me but not on this occasion. It’s not though a book for anyone looking for pinpoint historical accuracy. It’s just not that kind of novel.
I was riveted by the storyline, especially the last hundred pages. There were a couple of chapters where I was so keen to discover how the scene played out that I had to force myself to read slowly.
So for me this was a top-class novel, well meriting its Pulitzer nomination.
I read that the real-life author was born in Buenos Aires but grew up in Sweden between the ages of 2 and 9, where his parents lived as political refugees from the Argentine Junta. Swedish was his first language. He couldn’t settle in Buenos Aires after his parents returned to live there, and as a young man moved first to London and then to New York. There are obvious parallels between Håkan’s travels and the author’s own roundabout journey between Sweden and the United States. A big theme of this book is “not belonging� (for want of a better phrase). In his wanderings, Håkan never feels that he belongs in any one place, nor to any one group of people. He has no English when he first arrives in America and has to infer meaning from gestures or tone of voice. The author skilfully lets the reader experience this from Håkan’s perspective. Again, is this an echo of the author’s own experiences in coming to terms with Spanish and English? He clearly has a love of language, particularly descriptive nouns, and had me reaching for the dictionary on several occasions. The description of Håkan’s first encounter with a wagon train is incredibly vivid. I’ve no idea how accurate it is, but it’s vivid!
Speaking of wagon trains, Håkan’s journey is obviously from west to east. In the novel he heads north from California to find the main emigrant trail (the Oregon Trail?) which he intends to follow east. Even in the novel, he notes that he is travelling counter to the flow of emigrants. It seems to me that in the American tradition, the migration west represented a new life, putting the past behind you, and becoming independent, beholden to no one else. In his west to east journey, Håkan seems to be trying for the opposite - to grab onto the past, to find Linus and to regain his love and protection.
The novel is mainly realist though there are elements that border on the surreal or the fantastic. Sometimes that can jar with me but not on this occasion. It’s not though a book for anyone looking for pinpoint historical accuracy. It’s just not that kind of novel.
I was riveted by the storyline, especially the last hundred pages. There were a couple of chapters where I was so keen to discover how the scene played out that I had to force myself to read slowly.
So for me this was a top-class novel, well meriting its Pulitzer nomination.
October 30, 2022
"The hole, a broken star on the ice, was the only interruption on the white plain merging into thee white sky. No wind, no life, no sound."
And so begins the debut novel of Hernan Diaz, In the Distance. This book was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize in Fiction and a finalist for the Pen/Faulkner Award in 2017. This is the story of Hakan Soderstrom. He and his older brother, Linus, were given funds for their passage to America. Once in Portsmouth they lose track of one another with the huge influx of people and Hakan boards a ship destined for San Francisco instead of New York. Reuniting with his brother becomes his sole focus as Hakan leaves San Francisco and heads east moving against the great migration of peoples heading west in the late nineteenth century.
This haunting novel is a tale of profound loneliness and solitude and otherness as Hakam speaks no English nor does he realize the vast expanse of America. This portrait of our country is both a fable-like dreamscape and a nightmare as it unfolds in this unique coming-of-age book. Told entirely from the perspective of Hakan as he seeks to survive and make some sense of his world. One loses the concept of time but it is clear that with the passage of time, Hawk has grown to gargantuan proportions. The cover of the book, I find mysterious as it is clearly a mirror image and the phenomenon of mirages on the desert is gripping. Midway through the book there is a passage where he is making his way through the desert when he sees his face lying on the desert floor.
"But the blinding light coming from the ground was unlike anything else, and this strangeness confirmed its reality. More than a glare, it looked like a frozen blast, a detonation suspended in its flashing climax. The sharp whiteness cut through his eyes. As he approached that silent constant explosion in the sand, Hakan realized it was somewhat elevated, although it was hard to look at straight on. A few moments later, he reached the blaze. It was the mirror on the open door of a massive wardrobe. The large trunk was beached on its back, disemboweled, and the open door hung from its hinges at an angle. He was impressed by the dresser's craftsmanship--sensuous spirals and scrolls, lifelike paws and claws, plump cherubim and flowers. It was the softest thing he had touched during his long trip through the porous, pumice-like desert."
In this solitary existence, it comes as a revelation when Hakan finds companionship and realizes what it means to be seen by another. Some of the most poignant moments of this book are the times that Hakan tentatively reaches out for an intimacy with others. This is a very unique book, one that I have nothing to compare it to. Hernan Diaz forces us to look deep within ourselves with this touching and profound and unforgettable narrative.
August 14, 2018
A trip out West for a better life that goes horribly wrong. A tense but delightful entry into literature that's de-romanticizing the US westward expansion and all sorts of its different horrors. Great and memorable episodic encounters with different kinds of horror (scientific, entrepreneurial, religious, racist...) and small bleak little towns.
April 26, 2025
After reading Trust, I wanted to explore this author more. I devoured Trust, but this one, I nibbled at until it was done.
I’m both saddened and satisfied by this story. Westerns aren’t my favorite to read or to watch, but it’s more than that. It’s also about immigration, fear, solitude, friendships, and survival.
The protagonist was a true hero in every sense. I hope he finds what he’s looking for and can rest in peace when that day comes.
I’m both saddened and satisfied by this story. Westerns aren’t my favorite to read or to watch, but it’s more than that. It’s also about immigration, fear, solitude, friendships, and survival.
The protagonist was a true hero in every sense. I hope he finds what he’s looking for and can rest in peace when that day comes.
December 16, 2017
A refreshing approach to western fiction. Diaz, whose prose is one of the many shining aspects of this novel, sets his story of Hakan in the decades before the Civil War. Although there is plenty of violence, Hakan's tale is not centered around gun fights and cattle ranching that often populate novels of this genre. Rather, this is a story about a foreign individual in a foreign land. Hakan is a wanderer, and his experiences are beautiful, sad, lonely, violent and hopeful. "In the Distance" is a wonderful story that also serves as a timely reminder of our immigrant roots. This is a special book.
May 9, 2018
As with most others, I'd never heard of this book until it became a Pulitzer finalist - which is what impelled me to read it. While I can easily see why it got nominated (especially since it more than fulfills the mandate about being about America's history), I should have realized from the description it wasn't going to be my kind of book. Much like such lauded award winners as 'Narrow Road to the Deep North' and 'The North Water', this falls into a particular genre that I like to call 'Boy's Adventure Stories for Grown-ups' ... and I just cannot relate.
More than just the subject matter, however, although some of the prose is nice, Diaz alternates between long languid descriptions in which nothing much happens, and then speeds up the narrative when he SHOULD be spending more time making what is going on clearer. I never did quite get what was happening with the all important slaughter between settlers, the Indians and the 'brethren', since it all happens in half a paragraph. And having a low squeamishness threshold, long descriptions of operations on horse colons and arm amputations is just NOT something I want to read, thank you very much. I may be in the minority, but I much preferred the Pulitzer winner, 'Less'.
More than just the subject matter, however, although some of the prose is nice, Diaz alternates between long languid descriptions in which nothing much happens, and then speeds up the narrative when he SHOULD be spending more time making what is going on clearer. I never did quite get what was happening with the all important slaughter between settlers, the Indians and the 'brethren', since it all happens in half a paragraph. And having a low squeamishness threshold, long descriptions of operations on horse colons and arm amputations is just NOT something I want to read, thank you very much. I may be in the minority, but I much preferred the Pulitzer winner, 'Less'.
January 14, 2020
Håkan Söderström and his brother Linus set out for America from their native Sweden in the mid-19th century. After losing his brother in the crowded port, Håkan erroneously boards a ship destined for San Francisco rather than New York. Not realizing the distance across the continent, he believes he can reunite with his brother by journeying east, sending him against the wave of pioneers traveling west. He encounters people and circumstances that combine to send him wandering around the desert. In the process, he becomes part of a legend composed of a small amount of truth and a great deal of fabrication.
Håkan initially does not understand English. Ingeniously, the author tells the story is a way that helps the reader identify with Håkan’s experience, with no dialogue introduced until later in the story, after he has gained a rudimentary knowledge of English. He meets a variety of colorful characters along his journey, such as an Irish gold prospector, a woman that keeps him captive, a scientist, a con artist, and a companion that cares for him. One of the most enjoyable aspects of this book is the writing. The author’s prose is evocative. Díaz conveys a sense of open spaces, silence, emptiness, and loneliness.
“Håkan spent his days staring out at the desert, hoping Linus would feel his gaze through the osseous void. He looked at the plain until it became vertical, a surface to be climbed rather than traversed, and he wondered what he would find on the other side if he made it all the way up and straddled the sepia wall stretching into the drained, dim sky. No matter how hard he scanned the horizon, all he could see were rippling mirages and the phosphorescent specks his exhausted eyes made pop in and out of the emptiness. He pictured himself out there, running, insect-like, in the distance. Even if he ever managed to escape and somehow outdistance his mounted pursuers, how would he make it all by himself through that vast barren expanse? All he knew was that New York lay east and that he, therefore, had to follow the sunrise.�
This book takes place in the American west but avoids the typical western stereotypes. For example, the violence Håkan commits is not glorified or treated frivolously. Instead, it becomes an unsurmountable hurdle. He cannot reconcile his self-image as a decent caring human with someone that could perform such acts, even though he has no choice under the circumstances. He feels tremendous responsibility and becomes unable to cope. His life takes a dramatic turn at this point.
I found this book atmospheric and creative. It follows an unusual story arc, but I found it easy to go with the flow. It is a tribute to the author that he makes an appealing story out of a situation in which the protagonist is alone the majority of the time. This book contains beautiful descriptions of nature, a memorable protagonist, and much food for thought.
Håkan initially does not understand English. Ingeniously, the author tells the story is a way that helps the reader identify with Håkan’s experience, with no dialogue introduced until later in the story, after he has gained a rudimentary knowledge of English. He meets a variety of colorful characters along his journey, such as an Irish gold prospector, a woman that keeps him captive, a scientist, a con artist, and a companion that cares for him. One of the most enjoyable aspects of this book is the writing. The author’s prose is evocative. Díaz conveys a sense of open spaces, silence, emptiness, and loneliness.
“Håkan spent his days staring out at the desert, hoping Linus would feel his gaze through the osseous void. He looked at the plain until it became vertical, a surface to be climbed rather than traversed, and he wondered what he would find on the other side if he made it all the way up and straddled the sepia wall stretching into the drained, dim sky. No matter how hard he scanned the horizon, all he could see were rippling mirages and the phosphorescent specks his exhausted eyes made pop in and out of the emptiness. He pictured himself out there, running, insect-like, in the distance. Even if he ever managed to escape and somehow outdistance his mounted pursuers, how would he make it all by himself through that vast barren expanse? All he knew was that New York lay east and that he, therefore, had to follow the sunrise.�
This book takes place in the American west but avoids the typical western stereotypes. For example, the violence Håkan commits is not glorified or treated frivolously. Instead, it becomes an unsurmountable hurdle. He cannot reconcile his self-image as a decent caring human with someone that could perform such acts, even though he has no choice under the circumstances. He feels tremendous responsibility and becomes unable to cope. His life takes a dramatic turn at this point.
I found this book atmospheric and creative. It follows an unusual story arc, but I found it easy to go with the flow. It is a tribute to the author that he makes an appealing story out of a situation in which the protagonist is alone the majority of the time. This book contains beautiful descriptions of nature, a memorable protagonist, and much food for thought.
March 9, 2021
I really enjoyed this book and feel that it built a stronger case for the Pulitzer than the winner Less by Andrew Sean Greer. It is a voyage through the American west in a landscape of incredible violence that we also perceive when we read Cormac McCarthy. Its protagonist Håkan is a fascinating character and his adventures, as incredible as they are, just kept me reading. I loved the various people he meets along his way and even the somewhat ambiguous ending was enjoyable and fitting. A great read!
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