Bio
Magnea (Magnúsdóttir) from Kleifar was born in Strandasýsla on the 18th of April, 1930. She received eight months of education as a child, attended middle school for one winter and studied at a school for homemaker’s for a year. She worked as a homemaker and a farmer in addition to writing.
Before she started writing for children and teenagers, Magnea published a few novels for adults. Her first children’s book was Hanna María, published in 1966. More books on Hanna Maria followed and later other series for children and young people. Magnea’s books about the farm girl Sossa have been widely acclaimed and rewarded. Sossa sólskinsbarn (Sossa the Sunshine Child) received the Reykjavík Scholastic Prize as the best children’s book in 1991 and Sossa litla skessa (Sossa the Prankster) the same prize in 1996. The books about Sossa have also been nominated for the H.C. Andersen Children’s Literature Prize.
Magnea from Kleifar passed away February 17th 2015.
Publisher: Mál og menning.
Author photo: Norðurmynd ljósmyndastofa.
From the Author
From Magnea from Kleifar
I was born on April 18, 1930, in a wind-sheltered, wonderful little inlet at Strandir in the north of Iceland. There were three farms in this inlet, two of them at Kleifar, so I always had plenty of playmates, but I had become an adult when I realized that I had always lived as two persons. I thought everyone did, thought it as normal as the fact that we lived in two different houses at Kleifar, but were still together all day.
On an old yellow paper it says
My future:
1. Never do a day’s job after I grow up.
2. Read all the books in the world.
3. Sleep in every day.
4. Own numerous notebooks and a soft fat pen that writes endlessly.
5. Never marry, unless my feet keep being cold at night.
6. Have a rich uncle from America come for a visit and give me so much money that I can be in school for as long as I want.
7. Always get good grades, I promise not to boast about it.
8. Next time, be born as a boy, good God please read this.
Thanks. M.M.M.
This letter seems never to have been read, or at least my schooling was very limited, in line with the depression that hit hard on a farmer in a little cottage by the northern most sea. No uncle came from America, as should have been expected since I did not have one there. Writing was an obsession that I could not fight. About nothing in particular, just what happened to pop up in my thoughts while the pen was close to the paper. Afterwards, the writing was destroyed, so that no one could find out how she who lived behind my eyes thought. Reality was work and more work, for so little money that it was impossible to think of any further education. Boys had an advantage; they were paid better, and could also use their spare time for what they wanted to do, whether it was writing or something else. I had to make do with my dream of a different life.
For some reason, I can never see myself as a writer. Writers are people who think, decide, build a frame and then fill it in, with something profound and unforgettable, preferably something that an average person cannot understand. I just sit down and try to put down on paper as fast as I can, the narrative that flashes by like a movie on a screen: it differs how much I actually catch. Sometimes a long time goes by where I don’t write a single word, I just let my mind wander back and forth without a purpose. Then, all of a sudden, a character appears and demands attention, I watch her from a distance, see her life and her thoughts, I control nothing, even the names just appear by themselves. This is the same feeling I had as a child, when I was looking forward to going to bed at night in order to continue with an ongoing story in peace. In these stories, I was always the princess, the lady, or something like that – everything I wanted to be, but was not. Did everything you had to do as an ordinary woman, but felt that all the hours spent on writing were stolen, and still feel like that. Even if I am now alone, and in control of my life. This is probably inherited from my foremothers, who first and foremost were supposed to know how to feed and clothe ….
It was by pure coincidence that my first work got published. I remember that when the director of Oddur Björnsson Printing Company said that he wanted to publish my story in the magazine Heima er bezt, I bought pastry for my kids and my husband - this was a big day. My self-confidence was however not greater than visible in the fact that I wanted to use a pseudonym. Sigurður D. Björnsson then said to me: “My dear Magnea, if you cannot write in your own name, don’t write at all.” And that was it.
It isn’t until I read my books, after they have been published, that I can recognize different things in the characters that stem from myself, or from my offspring. After reading some reviews, I also exclaim in surprise: “Really, was that what I meant to say?” I write because of an uncontrollable urge, and mean nothing in particular, or is it so? I wanted to learn other languages, to be able to read foreign books in the original, but I do not even know how to type, and am still so sensitive about my own writing that no one is allowed to read it until it has become a book, except for my daughter who types for me. Sending forward a book is like watching your child go into the world. If you have done your best, you just have to wait to see how your offspring fares in this tough world. I have five children, sixteen grandchildren and two great-grandchildren, and they are the ones that have inspired me and given me countless pleasurable moments in the past years. Fountains of countless stories, most of which will not make it to the paper.
Dreams do not cost anything, and I have never been in lack of them in my lifetime.
Magnea from Kleifar, 2001.
Translated by Kristín Viðarsdóttir.
About the Author
Sunshine Children Through Thick and Thin
Hanna María Hákonardóttir, the heroine of Magnea from Kleifar’s first children’s book, lives alone with her grandparents on a remote farm. She lost her mother at a young age and has never known her father. Hanna María is a lively girl who is always up to something, a loyal friend and can be quite resourceful when she has to. Shortly after the story begins, a married couple with seven children move to the nearest farm, Fellsendi. Hanna María immediately befriends them, despite the fact that the new kids differ from her in many ways and their parents sometimes disapprove of this bold wild child from the cottage.
Many of the characteristics of Magnea’s books are already in place here; a strong individual at the centre of the story and a circle of children surrounding him or her. The story is told through the eyes of a child who tries out different things, learns from some but gets away with others. The adults are individually different, some offer understanding and comfort, others instruct, and then there are those who scold and can even be quite unfair. The suggestions given by the adults is not nearly always right, but they need to be obeyed, and our sympathies invariably lie with the young protagonist; her sorrows and joys are shared by the reader from the first page until the end of the book.
In a Sunny Countryside
Although most people only know Magnea Magnúsdóttir from Kleifar as a children’s author, she began her career writing novels for adults. Karlsen stýrimaður (Deck Officer Karlsen, 1962); Hold og hjarta (Flesh and Heart, 1964) and Í álögum (Spellbound, 1968) first appeared as serial novels in the magazine Heima er bezt and were later published as books. After that, Magnea focused entirely on writing children’s books and wrote four series, five books about the girl Hanna María (1966-1978), two about the kids in Krummavík (1980 and 1981), a four-book series about Tobías and Tinna (1982-1987), and finally a tetralogy about Sossa and her siblings (1991-1998). With the exception of a book and half about Tobías and the very beginning of the book about the kids in Krummavík, Magnea’s children’s novels are set in the countryside; the novels about Sossa in a poor country home at the beginning of the 20th century. In the Tobías story, the reader moves to the city but the bulk of the series takes place in a summer-long trip around the country. The parents of the Krummavík kids move out to the country when the family’s numbers increase; and Hanna María grows up in a place that comes close to an earthly paradise: an Icelandic countryside just before the middle of the 20th century, where the girl rules over the land, the sea and the neighbouring islands like a king in the South Seas.
The Hanna María series spans over two years, and begins when Hanna María is nine years old. Hanna María grows up in the cottage Fellsendakot with her grandparents, who we later learn are not related to her at all. There is not much material wealth in the cottage, but no one lacks for anything, and the girl is dearly loved. The message of the books is clear; a peaceful and simple life in a beautiful countryside is preferable to riches, no to mention the distractions of urban life. This is repeatedly made clear to Hanna María and the readers, both through the people she meets and a little old man who visits Hanna María in a dream.
The theme of the first book is friendship. For the first time in her life, Hanna María now has a friend, Sonja, who is a year younger than she, and is one of the couple at Fellsendi’s seven children. With a token of friendship they wow to be friends for the rest of their lives, but at times they will find it hard to keep that promise. Once Hanna becomes so angry with the Fellsendi family that she goes out in the middle of the night to move duck eggs from the island of the family, to islands that belong to the cottage. Later that same night she dreams that her conscience calls on her in the guise of a little old man, who illustrates to her how dearly the ducks loved their eggs and how sorely they miss them. The dream is so remarkable that Hanna María cannot keep it from her granddad, who swiftly takes her to Fellsendi, where she has to apologize. Hanna María is repentant after this, and will forever remember this little lesson about friendship and honesty, although she will still loose her temper from time to time. The old man in the dream visits Hanna María in every book after this, always advising her about good behaviour and manners. He shows her the difference between right and wrong, makes her recognize how good she has it, and that she ought to be thankful for it. The old man’s message and Hanna María’s upbringing by the grandparents in Fellsendakot already display a strong sense of justice, humanism and egalitarianism which have been the hallmarks of Magnea from Kleifar’s novels. In the Hanna María novels, the grandparents and the old man are the main bearers of this message, but just as often it is promoted by children. Both Tobías and Sossa suffer injustice by adults and do what they can to correct it.
A romantic national spirit of wholesomeness animates the novels about Hanna María. In the first book the kids build a hut on one of the islands, where a dance is held every summer for the young people in the area. People dance in the light summer night, and should someone be found to use alcohol there, they are punished harshly. In fact, drinking is condemned in many of Magnea’s novels, although the problems associated with it are never directly addressed.
In the second novel about Hanna María, Hanna María og villingarnir (Hanna María and the Wild Things), the twins Viktor and Viktoría stay for the whole summer in Fellsendakot. They are a seaman’s children from Reykjavík who have been brought up around their parents’ drinking and partying. In the country they let go of the bad habits of city children, like smoking and pickiness about food, and learn to appreciate the peaceful country life. Especially Viktor, who after this never feels better than in the cottage with granddad, grandma and Hanna María. At first Hanna María distrusts the twins but one night the dream man shows her what kind of circumstances they have been brought up in, and the advantages that the countryside has over the city. Later on, when Hanna María gets appendicitis and needs to go to a hospital in Reykjavík, she meets the siblings Björk and Baddi who also have difficult family circumstances in the city. Their mother is poor, has to work a lot and can therefore not take care of her children as much as she would like to. Hanna María invites the siblings to the farm and there they stay through the summer and have a wonderful time. The countryside is a refuge for these children – without exception, people feel good there and peace prevails. Even after the Second World War has begun. The war does not reach Fellsendakot, except through the papers and Hanna María cannot understand how people can be so mean to each other. Magnea blends accounts of the war elegantly into the story, thereby lending it a world outside the sunny countryside that envelops the reader, while at the same time placing it in a particular historical period.
In Hanna María og pabbi (Hanna María and Her Dad) a teacher comes to the countryside. Hanna María is eager to learn and industrious, but this is not the only reason why the teacher shows a particular interest in her. As it turns out, he is Hanna María’s father who did not know that she existed. She dreams of doing well in her exam, refuses to lift a finger on the farm and would rather read all day. Then the old man appears and teaches her that exam results are not the only measure of industriousness, not everyone can read all day and it is also important to help the people who are close to you. Hanna María’s father settles down in the country, marries the oldest daughter at Fellsendi and by the end of the final book in the series, Hanna María og leyndarmálið (Hanna María and the Secret), Hanna María has a little sister.
The books about Hanna María were popular when they came out. They are both instructive and full of adventure, and a good example of how Magnea from Kleifar always manages to find something worthy of a story, perhaps best illustrated by the fact that after five books, only two years have passed in Hanna María’s life.
Two Summers in Krummavík
A family of many children is in the foreground of Magnea’s next series. In the first third of Krakkarnir í Krummavík (The Krummavík Kids) the siblings Halli, Kalli, Palli and Maggalena are born, one in each year and before the book ends the sister Nanna is added to the group. The novel chronicles the brothers’ entertaining activities, especially one summer, when they are left to their own devices and have to watch each other. Their message is not as overt as in the Hanna María series; the accounts are funnier and are not haunted by the spirit of conscience, although there is always an underlying message of love and respect.
The longest continuous story in Krakkarnir í Krummavík is about when Halli has the idea to sell Maggalena. Hannes, a boy from a neighbouring village, is an only child and to him it seems obvious that the Krummavík folks have way too many kids. Halli finds it tempting to get rid of Maggalena, whom he often has to baby-sit, and instead get a cute little puppy that Hannes’s dog has just had. Hannes is dying to have siblings, and so they make a fair exchange, but as the day wears on Halli begins to have second thoughts. He does not dare to return home and goes into hiding, racked with guilt. Maggalena is also not too pleased with her stay with Hannes, so she runs away and hides. After a massive search, both siblings are found, scared and hungry and everything returns to normal. Halli discovers that he probably has the world record in sibling selling (no kid neither in this country or outside it has ever thought of such an outrageous thing before him) and Maggalena gets to keep the puppy she was meant to trade places with. It becomes a lovely dog which will always remind Halli of what he tried to do to his sister.
The only child Hannes, as opposed to the group of siblings, highlights different family types, their advantages and disadvantages, and shows to the reader that what one person is unhappy with can be another person greatest wish.
Kátt er í Krummavík (Fun and Games in Krummavík) takes place the next summer, when the youngest brother of the matron of Krummavík comes for a visit. He is not much older than the brothers and is thirsty for the country kids’ adventurous life. At the beginning of the book, Danni is madly jealous of his cousins in Krummavík because they have had a book written about them, which he buys and reads. At the end of the story he thinks he knows who wrote the book, and sorely regrets not having been more accommodating with this particular cousin of his during the summer. In the third Sossa book, there is a similar link from the characters to a published book. In this story, Sossa has recently received an exercise book as a gift from her brother, and starts to write down her story. Thereby she is made the author of her own story, although it did not come out until nearly a century later.
In the Krummavík series Magnea uses unsparingly the narrative technique of having the children understand words and things in their own way, which often contradicts the adults’ understanding and can set off entertaining speculation. For instance, Danni has trouble articulating how he is going to help with the lambing. He does not understand the word and the closest thing he can think of is that it refers to his classmate, who is teased and called “lamby”. On a horse riding trip he cannot wait when his aunt uses the Icelandic countryside expression “æja” for taking a rest stop, which he misunderstands thinking they are about to dismount and start jumping around shouting. He feels disappointed when they all sit down for a break. Misunderstandings like this come up frequently in Magnea’s books; they normally manage to be both funny and educational, making the reader feel that they are based on real life instances.
Jesus in the Attic
Tobías is hiding out and weeping beneath a wall when the reader first meets him. He hears his mum shouting angrily after him in the distance but he is too scared to answer. This introduction of Tobías to the reader describes him quite well, he is a protagonist of a very different kind from Hanna María and the group of siblings in Krummavík; he feels small and a bit lost in the world. His parents are distant and do not love him as unconditionally as both the grandparents in Hanna María’s Fellsendakot or the parents in Krummavík love their children. In contrast to the previous characters, Tobías has no control over the world around him. The adults decide how things are going to be, which is always the opposite of what Tobías wants, which no one is interested in knowing. Tobías has recently moved from his warm yellow house into a block of flats and is unhappy with his new environment where he doesn’t know anyone. At primary school no one listens to him either and the kids tease him. The main reason is that Tobías’ feet are of different lengths, causing him to limp. To top it all off, his mum is going to study abroad, leaving him and his dad at home. They are both equally unhappy with this. Tobías’ anchor in life is the old rag doll, Jóka. She is the only one he can confide in. His parents, however, do not understand this – they think he is muttering to himself underneath the duvet in the evenings, and instead of Jóka they want to give him a new, clean teddy bear.
A whole new world awaits Tobías on the top floor of his block of flats when he wanders up there one day, searching for god. Sighvatur the painter, who in fact bears a striking resemblance to Jesus in Bible illustrations, lives up there and sometimes also his daughter, Tinna. Her mother is also studying abroad and meanwhile Tinna lives with her grandmother. Sighvatur and Tinna are quite laid back, in comparison to the rigid structure in Tobías’ household; there is a very different attitude towards children, and Tobías is comfortable in their company. Magnea’s two next novels, up until her last one in this series, describe Tobías’ summer-long trip around the country with Sighvatur and Tinna in an old milk van that Sighvatur has made into a mobile home. From this experience, Tobías gains a new insight into the lives of adults. Sighvatur is as impulsive as the kids and allows neither convention nor the clock to rule his life. He encourages Tobías, lets him paint and play a flute, without criticizing him like his parents do. When Tobías discusses some issues with Jóka in bed, Sighvatur joins in the conversation and together they talk about Jóka’s homesickness. The sadness that characterized the first book is almost gone, Tobías’ environment now is not nearly as hostile as before.
The difference between Sighvatur and Páll, Tobías’s dad, becomes evident when the latter comes for a short visit on Tobías’s birthday. That day Tobías limps more than usual and is unable to cheer his dad up. He would much rather be out fishing with his mates than playing with Tobías. With his dad Tobías is small and out of sorts, but with Sighvatur and Tinna he feels like he belongs; sometimes he even seems to have more in common with Sighvatur than Sighvatur with his own daughter.
At one point Tobías is even able to show more courage than the brave Tinna. Late in the summer, a letter arrives from her mum, in which she says that she is not coming home, that she has found a new man and is expecting a child with him. Tobías comforts his friend, and discovers that other people have problems too.
When the three return to the city, Tobías has gained a great deal of confidence and does well when he starts in school. His dad has also grown up. He learns to value his son for who he is and even defends his wife’s decision to go and study abroad. When she comes home in her Christmas break she finds a changed father and son, an independent and hard-working boy and a proud father. They all thank Sigvatur and Tinna for the changes.
The Tobías and Tinna novels are a little bit like samples of different types of adults and different families. Tobías’ strict and demanding father is juxtaposed with the artist Sighvatur, who in some ways is more like the children than the adults. The aforementioned letter from his wife as good as confirms this. The mothers of the two children are different too – and although Tobías is unhappy that his mum left him he can still be glad that she is coming back, unlike Tinna’s mum. Yet another kind of parent is the mother of Axel, Tobías’ friend in the last book, who declares flat out that mums should stay at home with their children regardless of anything, thereby managing even to antagonize Tobias’ dad. The kids’ grandmothers also feature, representing the older generation. They find it hard to understand how Sighvatur can take care of the children – and in fact, Páll’s mates also share that feeling.
Magnea juxtaposes these different types of people, almost without passing judgment, allowing the reader to watch them and think about them. The novels about Tobías were published in the years when Icelandic women were entering the job market in increasing numbers and fits right into the ongoing debate about gender equality and responsibility for the family. Unlike the majority of children’s novels, they do not carry any hidden pedagogical message for children, but more so for adults. It is mainly Tobías’ parents who grow up and change (hopefully) in the course of the story and everything seems headed in the direction of a happy family life. This is fairly common in Magnea’s novels. The adults are individually different and receive an unequal share of the narrator’s sympathy. Those individuals who understand the children and all the things they get up to are maybe a bit inventive and playful themselves; or at least remember how they used to be as kids are the “best” in the children’s and the narrator’s eyes. Both the Krummavík kids’ mum and Sossa’s mum ask their husbands when they scold the children for their pranks, if they never got up to any pranks themselves when they were kids. Clearly, the mums did, and that only makes them better people.
A Sunshine Child with Ice in her Socks
Magnea from Kleifar’s last series of novels, a work in four volumes about the girl Sossa who grows up in an Icelandic countryside around 1900, contains her most profound and artistically ambitious writing. It combines an exciting story of a lively kid, a wealth of information about life in earlier times and reflections on human relations, which are not particular to any time or space. Sossa is six when her story begins, the seventh in line of eleven siblings, four of which are born after her. The stories trace Sossa through her entire childhood, until she gets married. Sossa tells her story in the first person narrative an the reader follows her thoughts and experiences closely through the twelve year span of the story. The narrative is at the same time a broad portrait of society, which features people from all classes, current affairs at home and abroad, and the realities faced by poor children less than a hundred years ago.
Sossa’s countryside and Hanna María’s countryside are like two different worlds. It is always warm where Hanna María is, she is always swimming in the sea around the islands. Sossa’s countryside is nearly always freezing. Her hands and feet are swollen from the cold and the ice sticks so firmly to her socks that it cannot even be removed with a pocket knife. The few weeks of the year when the rough wool undershirt can be taken off are a time of true bliss. Hanna María participates in the indoors and outdoors work on the farm as much as she wishes without being deemed lazy; in the Sossa books, on the other hand, we learn about hard labour. In their third and fourth year, children start to take care of their younger siblings; at the age of five to six they participate in the harvest; at seven to eight they watch over sheep night and day; and shortly after that, girls might be sent to work on other farms and boys to sea. At first to work for their meals but then to provide for their families.
Magnea is frank in her descriptions of the living conditions of poor cottage farmers, but she is also aware that there are limits to her readers’ tolerance and understanding, and does not go to far. She is always realistic but never over the top.
Compared with her sisters, Sossa is always up to something, or is “unruly” and, in her own opinion, ugly. She is a book lover and would like nothing more than read books and go to school. She has a strong sense of justice and is quick to loose her temper when she feels treated unfairly, regardless of by whom. She has no scruples about biting the rich merchant’s son when he behaves arrogantly towards her family and she refuses to apologize to him. At home she is scolded; her dad does not understand how stubborn the kid can be. She however inspires admiration in the least likely person. The merchant’s wife summons her and becomes her special friend, a friendship which will later prove to be fateful.
When Sossa gets angry, her other self takes over – Setta, who is even more unruly and unattractive than Sossa herself. Sossa uses her to get away from being unfavourably compared to her sisters, who all are either hard-working or beautiful. With time, Sossa turns out to be no less industrious than her sisters, and does well at school, which she attends for three winters a few weeks each time.
Almost every year a new life is born in the poor cottage and Sossa does not understand why her dad puts all these children into her mum’s belly when there are so many kids already and when her mum suffers so much when her little siblings are born. As one can imagine, death is never far away. The first sibling to die is little Lárus who was always frail. The next one to die is her big brother, Gummi, who goes down with a boat. This time, Sossa is older, and experiences her loss more strongly. But the saddest of all is when Sossa looses Glingló, the sister who was born on her 11th birthday and only lived to be four years old. When their mother is taken ill as a result of the birth, Sossa takes Glingló under her wing, as if she was her child. The description of Sossa’s state of mind when Glingló falls ill and dies – the profound grief that overwhelms the child’s heart, a grief that is impossible to work through – is almost unmatched in Icelandic literature. When Sossa’s siblings die, Magnea does not shy away from the grief, the fear and the anger, allowing the unfairness of the world to drive her heroine to the edge of reason. But at the last minute she intervenes, comforting both Sossa and the readers, without ever blunting fate’s sharp edge. It is all a part of life.
Another example of this is a trauma that Sossa experiences as a ten year old, when two brothers from a neighbouring farm surround her in a remote spot and strip her naked. She gets her revenge by stoning them, leaving them badly bruised, but the scars the attack leaves in Sossa’s soul prove more serious. The shame is so unbearable for her, that it colours her whole conduct and mindset from then on, not least in her attitude to strangers, especially to boys; and she tells no one about the incident except her husband on their wedding night.
Magnea from Kleifar’s view, which runs through all her works, is that children are worthy of respect, remarkable and fun people; this is nowhere more true than in the novels about Sossa. In some extraordinary way, Magnea manages to fill the characters of almost every single sibling, as well as their friends and neighbours, with life and individuality. Thereby, she deepens not only the reader’s understanding of the situation of the poor cottage farmer, but of the infinite variety of human society – how two sisters, born one year apart, growing up in the same crowded cottage and sharing a bed for more than a decade, can have such different outlooks and dreams.
The Narrator
Magnea from Kleifar is a realist author and she tells her stories straightforwardly, from the beginning to the end, mostly without the use of any intrusive stylistic devices in her narrative – as if she were a storyteller in a farmhouse dormitory, telling tired people exciting tales after a long day of work. Her stories glide forward effortlessly with tales of interesting people, children and adults, their adventures, joys and sorrows. An unfaltering sympathy for children is a hallmark of Magnea’s books, as well as a strong moral message, which is always supportive of children and often points the finger at adults. In her first novels, the Hanna María series and the two novels about the kids in Krummavík, joy is the reigning emotion and life, almost without exception, is good. The later series, the tetralogies about Tobías and Sossa are darker, the undertone more serious and the criticism of the factors that complicate the children’s lives is harsher. Magnea can write about both joy and sorrow, but the highlight of her writing career so far has undeniably been the multi-awarded series about Sossa the sunshine child, which spans the whole range of human emotions, as experienced by a developing girl who is not afraid of expressing her opinions.
In her best novels, Magnea from Kleifar fully bears comparison with the realist novels of authors like Astrid Lindgren and Anne-Cath Westley. Her stories are all at once: funny, true and rewarding for readers of all ages, children and adults.
© Sigþrúður Gunnarsdóttir, 2001.
Translated by Vera Júlíusdóttir.
Articles
General discussion
“Bíblíografítsjeskíj slovar”
Detskaja líteratúra, 1996, volume 4-6, p. 79-83
On individual works
The Sossa books
Silja Aðalsteinsdóttir: “Sossas to ansigter : med en højrøstet dæmon på den ene skulder og en høflig engel på den anden har man svært ved altid at gøre det rigtige = The two faces of Sossa : with a loud-mouthed demon on one shoulder and a polite angel on the other, it is sometimes very difficult to do the right thing”
Nordisk litteratur 1996, p. 58-60
Awards
1996 - Reykjavik Scholastic Prize: Sossa litla skessa (Sossa, Little Troll)
1992 - Reykjavik Scholastic Prize: Sossa sólskinsbarn (Sossa Sunshinechild)
1992 - Ibby, Iceland Award (International Board on Books for Young People): For her writing career
Nominations
2000 - H.C. Andersen Award: For the Sossa books
1996 - H.C. Andersen Award
Hanna María öskureið (Hanna Maria furious)
Read moreHanna María á héraðsskóla
Read moreÍ álögum
Read moreSossa sönn hetja (Sossa, True Hero)
Read moreSossa skólastúlka (Sossa, the Schoolgirl)
Read moreSossa litla skessa (Sossa Little Troll)
Read moreSossa sólskinsbarn (Sossa Sunshinechild)
Read moreHanna María
Read moreTobías, Tinna og Axel (Tobías, Tinna and Axel)
Read more