Discovered an unknown short story with the Christmas story “Sauahols-Bård’en” written by Jon Fosse – news Vestland

An editor met Jon Fosse on a driver’s license theory course sometime in the 80s. The result was the unknown short story about a boy who brings Christmas food to a recluse whom he fears is a cannibal. According to the caption in Natur Vest, the forgotten short story by the then quite unknown author was written by Jan Fosse. Unknown to the experts Five of those in Norway who know Jon Fosse’s writing best are asked a simple question: – What do you think of “Sauahols-Bård’en”? Here is the answer: – What kind of thing is that? says Knut Hoem, literature reporter at news. – It is unknown to me, says literary critic Tom Egil Hverven. – Sauahols…? says Kirsti Mathilde Thorheim, who for two years worked on the plans for a Fosse archive and centre. – Hmm. I have to admit that I can’t think of that, says Jan H. Landro, who has written a Fosse biography. Me tries publishing editor Cecilie N. Seiness at Samlaget, which has published all of Jon Fosse’s books. And she has written both a main thesis and a biography about the fellow. – What do I think about what…? By Jon Fosse? Where has it been printed? A proud Fosse accepted the Nobel Prize from King Carl Gustav. Photo: Silje Robertsen Driving test The answer lies at Landås in Bergen. Because when Fosse was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature this autumn, a small bell rang in Anders Goksøyr’s head. – I went on the theory course for the driving test in 1986. There were a lot of 18-year-olds there, but then there were two or three of me who were about ten years older than the others. Me got talking. One of them was Jon Fosse. At the time, Goksøyr was on the editorial staff of Natur Vest – the member magazine of the Nature Conservation Association in Hordaland. – I continued with the Christmas number, and I realized that I could ask if he wanted to write a little Christmas story. And Jon was involved. So he wrote “Sauahols-Bård’en”, which I was allowed to print in the magazine. Anders Goksøyr made a small coup when, in 1986, he got Jon Fosse to write a Christmas story in the members’ magazine of the Nature Conservation Association. Photo: Helena Viktoria Johnsen / news Goksøyr later discovered that the author had been called “Jan Fosse” in the caption. – I don’t think Jon discovered it. (You can read the entire short story at the bottom of the article.) Christmas story cliché? The first-person in the story has brought a plastic bag with Christmas baking and a Christmas booklet, and a pot of pork chops and turnip puree, which the grandmother wants him to give to the lonely Sauahols-Bård’en. A man who the people in the village think is quite scary. – It’s a very well-known motif, this one with someone being sent out as a kind of store with something for someone who doesn’t have it so well in the village. So the motif there is very much within the Christmas story genre, analyzes literary critic Knut Hoem. Knut Hoem says Fosse writes deeply disturbing, also in the Christmas story from 1986. Photo: Robert Rønning / news Kirsti Mathilde Thorheim likes what she hears from the novella. – Yes, the great darkness is there. And the plastic bag is included. So there is something familiar about this, then. Author Fosse mixes himself up in the tiny text: – I might get the feeling that Fosse is writing a Christmas story here without really wanting to write a Christmas story, says Cecilie N. Seiness. – Maybe he did it just for the money? – Yes, it may well happen. He is, after all, a new author at this time. He has to write for a living, quite simply. Cecilie N. Seiness is the editor of Fosse, but had never heard of “Sauahols-Bård’en”. Photo: Thomas Alvarstein Owe / news But editor Goksøyr denies that they paid a fee. Fosse, on the other hand, was well paid in the autumn. Winning the Nobel Prize means 11 million Swedish kroner in prize money. – There is an early, but unmistakable Fosse in this text. Here there is both anxiety and darkness and horror and village life and classic repetitions. And the rhythm that lies in the text, says Seiness. Typical Fosse, says Tom Egil Hverven when he is shown the forgotten Christmas story. Photo: Hilde Bruvik / news “Pedophile cannibal”? Then there is a section that is quite fierce to be a Christmas story in the Naturvernforbundet i Hordaland’s member magazine: – There are so many examples of this in Fosse, that one cannot quite know on which side of the border to imagination, hallucination or dream that the text is, says Hverven. Landro gets an association with Fosse’s greatest novel. – This is interesting! In his magnum opus “Septology” there is a story about a lorry driver who gives the main character, a boy, money for him to sit with him, so that he can pinch him a bit and cuddle with him. Biographer Jan H. Landro allows himself to be excited by several things in the tiny, unknown Fosse text. Photo: Simen Sundfjord Otterlei / news In addition, the text now becomes quite experimental, as Sauahols-Bård’en finally opens the door. The first-person is thus “interrupted” in the middle of the sentence by the fact that the loner speaks to him. Now let the Fosse experts get carried away. – This is reminiscent of “Blood. “The stone is”, by far the most difficult and least read novel by Jon Fosse, says Landro enthusiastically. – I think it was something very nice, this with the door disappearing “into thin air”. There is a break with realism, and he often does that in later texts, says Thorheim. – Then I’m in the non-realistic realm. Fosse is an author who moves between the earthly, the heavenly and the deeply disturbing, says Hoem. – He plays with the fiction, whether there is actually someone there or not. Typical Fosse, says Hverven. – A Christmas story in a waterfall style, says Seiness. . – I think there was something very nice here, says Kirsti Mathilde Thorheim about the short story. Photo: Ann Eli Nøsen / news Point In any case, this is not a published short story in a nature conservation magazine. And the history has never been published in book form. – But you, now I’m very excited about how it will end, says Hoem. And he has reason to. Because how does Fosse end a Christmas story that was supposed to be very short and “just nonsense”? Like this: – Hm. And then there is the period? wonders Landro. Yes actually. Later, Fosse almost stopped punctuating his novels. But here it was full stop. – Absolutely true. His writing contains more than one might think, says Hoem. This is Jon Fosse outside the door of the honorary residence Grotten, but perhaps also the boy who had to knock on the lonely island “Sauahols-Bård’en”? Photo: Ole Berg-Rusten / NTB What does Fosse himself say? We have of course contacted the Nobel Prize winner, but he is repeating – yes, Fosse likes to repeat things – what he has already clearly said to the whole world after the award ceremony. He writes back politely: “Good luck.” Now I say no to all interviews, and for a very long time to come.” Anders Goksøyr states that both he and Jon Fosse passed the theory test. “Sauahols-Bård’en” by Jon Fosse I stand in front of the door of Sauahols-Bård’en. I knock on the door. I only hear this great darkness. I’m a little scared. It’s dark, and when I turn I can just make out the houses at home. The house where Besta lives. She is the one who sent me. “If you want to go up to Sauahol with this, you’re a good boy,” she said. I wanted to go. I am going up the road, in this Christmas story, which I am now writing, and which will be very short, and without what one expects from a story, and only nonsense. I walk up Skogavegen. In one hand I have a plastic bag, and in it there are Christmas pastries, of all kinds – doughnuts, and there are pretzels, crab cakes, potato cakes, and there are flatbreads. Besta has baked everything herself. Is there chocolate there. Bacon. Jam. There are two Christmas booklets. In the other hand I ask for a tin pail, and in the pail there is hot food, huge molars with pinna meat, carrot paste, potatoes. “He must get something good in Sauahol’en on Christmas Eve too,” said Besta. I walked up the road, fast, and I’m standing in front of the door. I knock on the door. Nobody answers. I’m a little scared. I can only see this darkness. I know that the house is painted white, the measurements are poor. Window sills painted green. There is an outbuilding next to the house, and the roof has collapsed on it. I can make out the outhouse. It is snowing. Wet snow. I knock on the door. In front of me on the stairs are the plastic bag and the bucket of hot food. I’m knocking. “He can be malicious, downright dangerous, Sauahol,” they say. I knock on the door, and I see the Sauahol in front of me. Small, crooked. A dirty black coat that he bit to the body with a rope. The buttons are worn off. The sheep hole bends its body, and its fingers curl around a female he has found in the spring. “Must be sorry for the winter,” he says, and he drags the hen along the main road, up Skogavegen. “Will not accept social security, Sauaholen,” they say. “He must now almost starve to death, Sauahol,” they say. I knock on the door, and I see him dragging the hen after him. Midsummer, and he wears the black coat. The string. I knock on the door. I turn around, and I see lights from the houses at home. The house where Besta lives. I hear the trampling violently inside. I hear him coming. I knock on the door again, and no one answers. Darkening. Wet snow. I hear him stomp, and he comes, opens the door, quickly, and then he curls his fingers around me, and he says that he likes such little boys, the best Christmas food he knows of is such gut larvae. He dragged me up the stairs like he dragged the hen after him in the summer. I knock on the door. I’m knocking. I want to run. I knock, and the door disappears. I knock Yes, good evening, yes, he says. In the air, and I’ll turn on the outside light, he says. Looking down. The Sauahol is in the doorway. He is wearing the black coat. Lanyard instead of buttons. He chews with his black mouth open, and I bend. I was supposed to deliver this, I say. I’ll deliver the plastic bag and the tin can, and the Sauahol asks if I want to come in. “He can get angry, is downright dangerous then, the Sauahol,” they say. I shake my head. He says no no, and he closes the door. I remain standing. I look towards the house at home. There is light from Besta’s house. It’s Christmas Eve. I remain standing. “He won’t accept social security either, Sauahol,” they say. I’m standing in front of the door. I have to run. I am knocking on the door of Sauahols-Bård’en again, and I notice that I now have a strong desire to continue with this story, but it has to be, I guess that’s just the way it is. I finish writing this sentence. –Sauahols-Bård’en is a Christmas story written especially for NaturVest. Photo: Nature West



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