Hevosenpääsumussa

Ihana, ihana, ihana...

I recognize myself in this book, even though I know very well it has nothing to do with me. Something very Finnish. Maybe because we are both Finnish, women, about the same age... Maybe. But... it hits straight home.
It is beautiful, though full of sorrow. Melancholic, but... full of joy, somehow. Beauty.

Leena Kellosalo's language is rather simple but exact... it's not precise, but she manages to convey the feeling perfectly.

Mothers clung to their sons
apple trees were corpse trees
with pike bones on their roots
mothers bowed down weighed by tears
and punctures towers of memories
every yard had a grave and
in bushes fathers' bottles of cheap liquor and
rows of carrots grew into thickets
giant pumpkins on dung heaps fed only hares