This crude book tried hard to be funny but it just wasn’t. There was no heart and an unlikeable main character. It also dragged on for lever! Will definitely be passing on other books by this author.

Thanks to the publisher and NetGalley for allowing me to read and review this book.

I wasn't expecting a book with so many gruesome elements to be as funny as it was, but here ya go! I enjoyed hearing the perspectives from our narrator as she recounted past experiences, but I found the ending much slower than the first 2/3 of the story.

Unlikeable character, gruesome detail at times-- an old woman looks back on her life in flashbacks regarding how she became who she became. But I liked it. It was refreshing to read something so different, so offbeat. It's good to take a break from traditional commercial fiction. While this book has elements of that, it's just enough off-brand that it makes it interesting. I'd recc.

I really enjoyed the first 200 pages of this book - Herra Bjornsson is an old, feisty, foul-mouthed woman who has had a huge life and who's story is pretty amazing. Until it wasn't. I could have done without the last 100 pages [at least] - there was plenty of sorrow and anger and angst in the stories that were told on the previous pages that I am not sure we needed more. It is a good example of having a really good idea for a book and then actually writing said book.

There are parts that are hilarious [her many email correspondences comes to mind] and it IS and interesting look at World War 2 that we Americans rarely get [thanks to Joy Walsh for that phrase, it was perfect], but ultimately, it just became a little too much for me.

The cover of this book features the WWII grenade that Herra, its protagonist, still keeps in her home and the book's title refers to the temperature at which the crematorium burns a fact that she learns when trying to make an appointment to be cremated, The vignettes cover the 80-year-old's life and a huge, heartbreaking chunk of it has to do with her experiences during World War II.

This book has humor and pathos and a main character that will stay with you long after you are done with the book.

Herra is eighty years old, riddled with cancer, and ready to die. So ready she calls up the crematorium and makes an appointment, but first, she will take some time to review her life–an alarmingly eventful and unlikely life.

If Hallgrïmur Helgason had not based Woman at 1000 Degrees on the life and memoirs of Brynhildur Georgia Bjornsson, the granddaughter of Iceland’s first president. Helgason serendipitously called her while phone canvassing for his wife’s campaign, it would be easy to think Herra was too incredible, but truth can be stranger than fiction.

With sardonic humor and frank honesty, Herra assesses her life and her many loves. She’s more or less alone–living in a garage, neglected by her children which she thinks is fair since she often neglected them. She recalls the many men in her life, her travels, and her travails. At first, it seems like it will be a sarcastic recollection by an unrepentant and self-indulgent femme fatal, but she’s just warming up before getting to the hard stuff.

And the hard stuff is hard. Her father is seduced by the strong-man appeal of Hitler and enlists in the SS even though he’s Icelandic. The family is separated, her mother going to work as a housekeeper, her father in the army, and Herra sent to an island away from the war. However, when a planned family reunion in Berlin is disrupted, she is stranded, alone, a child who must figure out how to survive during World War II Germany. Her story is harrowing, a remarkable example of survival against all odds.



I enjoyed Woman at 1000 Degrees very much, though it took some doing to get into the story. I nearly quit about fifteen percent of the way through, thinking I didn’t much like Herra and who cares about all the men she slept with, but that’s just because she’s gearing herself up for the tough stuff. She’s not exactly a nice person, she catfishes on the internet, she talks about neglecting her children for men and travel and it’s only when you get to know her story that it begins to make sense.

I received an e-galley of Woman at 1000 Degrees from the publisher through NetGalley.

Woman at 1000 Degrees at Algonquin Books, Workman Publishing
Hallgrímur Helgason author site

Despite my personal dislike of quirky old person narratives, I really found myself enjoying this novel. Herra Bjornsson lives in a garage where she is dying from emphysema, and is thinking back on her life. And what a life! She came of age in Iceland during World War II. I had never stopped to think about Iceland during World War II, and the book gave me the occasion to do so. Technically Iceland was ruled by Denmark at the time, but Denmark was invaded by Germany while the island of Iceland was occupied by the British. And in 1944, Iceland declared its independence in the midst of the worldwide chaos.

So what do you do if you are a young Icelandic girl whose father fights for the Nazis? Herra moves with her mother to the Danish island of Amrum where hundreds of people are taking shelter from the war, until they are forced to relocate. At that point she is sent to live with a family who is supposed to only take her in for a few months. But when her mother doesn't make the rendezvous point and Herra's father goes back to the front, she is forced as a young teen to attempt to survive on her own, taking her through areas of Denmark, Poland, and Germany. When she returns to Iceland, her father is ostracized and she can't forgive her mother, while her grandparents (the president of Iceland) have war-forgetting cocktail parties for the new wealthy class that profited from the war.

Between the chapters of this history are chapters from the "present day," which in this novel is 2009. Herra is bedridden but she has internet access and spends much of her time trolling people on the internet, including her daughter-in-law. One of her neighbors teaches her how to be a low-key hacker and this leads to other shenanigans.

The reference to 1,000 degrees is the temperature at which a body is burned for cremation, and one memorable scene has Herra making her own appointment at the crematorium.

I think without the balancing of the feisty old person Herra, the story may have seemed overly melodramatic. It did add a lot to the story to know where she ended up. And it isn't glamorous!

There is even more here - commentary on the Icelandic people, the discomfort of representing the great white ideal because of Hitler (her father was a professor of myth/history ... the line gets a bit blurred by the Nazis of course), the reactions of normal people to war and other atrocities, survival, and even sexual awakening (this last one makes me consider whether or not this is mild enough for a book club recommendation.)

There is enough humor to balance the stark realities, and Herra is probably the most kickass invalid you will ever encounter. I enjoyed it far more than I expected, and will seek out additional books by the author, someone who somehow escaped me in my year of reading Iceland. Shame!

Herbjörg Maria (Herra) Björnsson is 80 years old and living in Reykjavík; she begins the narrative of her life with an interesting opening: “I live here alone in a garage, together with a laptop computer and an old hand grenade. It’s pretty cozy.” What follows is a look back at her life with a focus on the years of World War II when her experiences shaped her character and life thereafter.

It is the characterization of Herra that stands out. From the beginning she emerges as a feisty, witty woman but then we see her selfishness which will have some readers turning away. She describes her uninhibited lifestyle: “I was independent, had few scruples, and didn’t let anything hold me back – dogma, men, or gossip. I traveled around and took casual jobs, looked after my own interests, had children and lost one, but didn’t let the other ones tie me down, took them with me or left them behind, just kept moving and refused to allow myself to be drawn into marriage and to be bored to death, although that was the toughest part, of course.” Even as an octogenarian, she engages in questionable behaviour. For instance, she has a number of fake identities on social media and uses them to spy on a daughter-in-law and to mercilessly flirt with an Australian man who is obsessed with bodybuilding.

Those readers who don’t let Herra’s negative traits deter them from continuing through her narrative come to understand her and have sympathy for her. For instance, she never fits in: “I was wrong everywhere I went. To Åse [my Norwegian friend] I was too Danish. At school [in Denmark] I was too German. And to everyone too Icelandic. I never fitted in. At any time in my life. In Argentina after the war, people thought I was German and looked at me askance. In Germany, when they realized I’d been to Argentina, people looked at me askance. And at home I was a Nazi, in America a Communist, and on a trip to the Soviet Union I was accused of ‘capitalistic behaviour.’ In Iceland I was too traveled, on my travels too Icelandic. . . . Women told me I drank like a man, men like a slut. In my flings I was deemed too keen; in my relationships too frigid. I couldn’t fit in any damned where and was therefore always looking for the next party. I was a relentless fugitive on the run.” But it is her horrific experiences in war-ravaged Europe that result in trauma so profound that all her future relationships suffer. Her explanation to her sons is not an understatement: “’Tell them that their mother did her best, but my eighth life wouldn’t allow for . . . for more.’” The title may refer to the temperature used by a crematorium to burn a human body, but it is also an apt metaphor for what Herra endures.

It is during the war that Herra learns about the extent of man’s inhumanity. As Herra witnesses, women are certainly capable of brutal behaviour, but it is the treatment she receives from men that leaves her with little tolerance for members of the male sex. She comes to agree with the observations of an acquaintance who advises her to beware of men because “’All men are Germans’” and to not become a woman because “’Women have such a rough time. Just be a person. Not a woman. . . . to be a woman is like being . . . it’s just a disease. . . . To be a woman is a disease. A deadly disease.’” She also comes to believe that virtually all women have been raped: “No doubt Mom, Grandma, Great-Grandma, and all their foremothers had been raped . . . In farms, in barns, in ditches, on hills, on heaths, in bedrooms, in kitchens, in larders, at balls, in woods, on ships, in castles, cabins, gardens, and the Garden of Eden.” Having been abandoned by one or both parents at different times, Herra didn’t have model parents but could her negligence of her sons be at least partially attributed to their gender?

The novel moves back and forth through time as befits the disjointed memories of an old woman, but this technique does present some challenges for the reader. Of course, to maintain reader interest, the most shocking revelation is saved for the end. At times, the book does drag. There is considerable commentary about Icelanders and their culture; several times there is reference to the Icelandic tradition of silence: “the tyranny of Mr. Silence, the despot who ruled Iceland in the twentieth century.” Having only visited Iceland once and not being too familiar with Icelandic history, this pre-occupation with silence doesn’t mean much to me.

The touches of humour are wonderful. Herra finds walking painful so describes her path to the toilet as her Via Dolorosa: “My dream is to be hooked up to a catheter and a bedpan, but my application got stuck in the system. There’s constipation everywhere.” There is more than one example of satire in the author’s having the wife of an Icelandic car importer, a Mrs. Fortuneson, name an automobile a Chèvre au lait, “’making the American car maker sound like a fancy French hors d’oeuvre.” The episode where Herra calls a crematorium to make an appointment for disposal of her body is hilarious.

I’ve always enjoyed books where an elderly person examines his/her life, and this title will be added to my list of notable examples of this type.

Note: I received an eARC of this book from the publisher via NetGalley.

This book was, without question, the best possible way to kick off this year’s reviews. It took me a few days to sit down and write this review because it is a book that defies genre and classification yet, it is meticulously crafted, undeniably outrageous, and so damn thought provoking that it will leave you desperately wanting more. The only way I can describe this book is as a deathbed confessional for one spunky old lady who has a) lived one hell of a life, and b) certainly won’t be leaving this world unless it is on her own terms. But more than anything it is a tale of perseverance and survival in the most trying of conditions. It explores the very fabric of humanity, the limits of one’s spirit, and ultimately, what makes a person.

I loved Herra’s character – she is honest, painfully blunt, defiant, and fiercely independent. I enjoyed the conversational tone of the narration, the train of thought approach, and the flashback style memories. The result was that while we get a good idea of who and what Herra is at the end of her life, we are also presented glimpses into the moments that shaped her. I won’t go into too much detail about these events other than saying that growing up as a teenage girl during WWII without parents or family to protect you is a pretty raw deal – and that I’m happy she at least had her father’s hand grenade. In the end I can only hope that I will go the same way as dear old Herra – on my own terms, in my own time, and with a grenade that have been carried through wars and across continents in my hands. Seriously though, I would have loved to have seen how the funeral homes and bomb squad would sort that predicament out! … Also Bod’s face when he realized that his muscle obsessed pea-brain had been duped by a cancer ridden pensioner in a garage…

In the end I was left with many questions, but all in a good way. I questioned whether Herra actually wrote down the memories that we were presented, or did they disappear with her into the Icelandic tradition of silence? And, if Icelanders didn’t want to listen to whole or even part truths, how much of what we are presented was a complete fabrication. Of course, I know that all of it had to be as this was a work of fiction, but I am still curious as to how many people will listen to what is being said with this book. I think too, that it calls into question not only validity of deathbed confessionals, with all the inaccuracies of memory and the erosive nature of time, but it also offers a gentle reminder that our parents and grandparents have lived experiences that they simply cannot talk about.

Finally, I always have a sense of trepidation when it comes to approaching books that I know are translations, especially when they are highly regarded in their original language. I was doubly hesitant knowing that Woman at 1,000 Degrees was translated from Icelandic as it is a language poetic in a way that traditional English composition simply is not. I am happy to say that in this case these concerns were completely unwarranted. The writing maintains echoes of Sagas, Eddas, and the poetry that has come to embody a nation; it is interwoven with rich cultural allusions; and it encapsulates the ways in both place and time can leave indelible impressions on the soul. The style of this book is nothing like I’ve ever read before – it is rich in imagery, dry in humour, and heartbreaking in the smallest possible ways leaving you absolutely shattered at the end.

Would I recommend this book? Oh hells to the yes! It has set the bar high in terms of 5* reads this year, and I have the feeling that this is one I will be rereading again soon. Sure, the vulgar language and raw approach won’t be for everyone, but I genuinely think that the style and subject matter will appeal to a broad range of aesthetics. I can’t wan’t for it to hit shelves in just a few days time, and I have every intention of shamelessly pushing it on all of my friends.

The length of this book makes for a bit of a daunting read, and I was unable to make it all the way through. It begins well enough, and the novelty of strolling through the thoughts in someone's mind as they prepare for the end of their life is interesting. But the rambling nature of the thoughts, and the traipsing through history becomes tiring. Perhaps it wasn't the book for me.

An example of the genre of elderly-person-reflecting-on-life, this looks at a slice of the world most Americans don't know- Iceland. Helgason has created a fairly repugnant character in Herra and takes us through her life, especially focusing on the war years. So many of the characters in this genre are unlikable and she's no exception. Much as I hoped for a positive with this, as I've been to Iceland and follow news there, I found this not my cup of tea and DNF. Thanks to Netgalley for the ARC.

4.5/5 stars
A look at World War 2 that Americans rarely get. Herra is a feisty, foul-mouthed crone at the beginning of this one, and I cried buckets for her by the end.

Did not finish, no review. I hope others enjoy it more.

I do not remember requesting this book. I tried reading it but at this point in time, I cannot manage a novel where a man creates a raunchy female character.

“You are still, however, my sons, try as you might to fight that fact. And that is and will undoubtedly be your everlasting handicap.”

The title refers to Eighty-year-old Herra Bjornsson who will be cremated when she’s dead has a standing appointment while she’s alive. While she waits to die she has her fun wiling away the days living in a garage in Reykjavik playing around with fake identities on social media. She can be young again, she can be anyone! Maybe there is cruelty in some of the deceptions, but it’s keeping her young, right? This is like sitting down beside one’s fiery grandmother(if you’re lucky enough to have one) with a history far more adventurous and ill-fated than you could ever conjure. Her youth enraptured me, I have a fondness for characters that have lived through atrocities, I wonder at the strength human beings are capable of. As they say, you are stronger where you break. Or so we hope. “Human beings have always had a need for disasters. If nature doesn’t provide them for us, we create them ourselves.” If that isn’t a nugget of truth, I don’t know what is. In war, there is a strange order in the chaos. Everyone is suffering, everyone’s ‘life is raped’ and it requires a certain numbness to survive. No one can empathize with another’s plight too much, as everyone is living with horrors. Terrible things happen to Herra Bjornsson and warmth, humanity is found in the strangest of places. With her fierce youthful curiosity she befriends a prostitute, while skipping school. As she points out, behind each door in the war-torn cities there is a woman, doors leading to lives as if in grand novels- tragic, dramatic, horrific. I enjoyed following her escapades of youth, scorned or broken women whispering secrets to her like “Don’t become a woman.” As of there is a way to stop it, telling her to ‘be a person‘ instead, and she does try over the years and has her fun, her many partners, her drunken nights rich with conversations. In such times, what could be worse than being a woman, losing sons, husbands, being raped or forced into prostitution or worse, and there is always worse. Forced to separate from her parents, sent to live on an ‘island of women’ with war on, staying in the home of Frau Baum she shares a room with Heike, and becomes just another mouth to feed, hence she accidentally becomes a little Icelandic girl helping Hitler’s cause. Hunger, absence, frugality, the small business children learned to run to put food in their belly- these are things most of us can only read about and try to wrap our minds around from the distance of the present. Sharing a hungry love in the forest with a Polish man named Marek, until she becomes nothing more than a foolish “Germnay Girl” in his mind. There is no innocence left after but her grenade remains with her to fuel the memories of wartime. War shaped Herra Bjornsson, an orphan of war, a victim and yet a survivor, a fighter!

I didn’t always like her, let’s face it, she has her selfish moments as a mother but I felt for her. Her youth and the war had her begging to be seduced by a Nazi/Poet, and shamed for it but really, who can’t understand the unimaginable hunger for human warmth, the confusion and chaos of a teenage girl who is learning firsthand the brutality of men? Of war? Admitting to the eroticism of the forbidden, her youth is far more obvious. She always seems to understand the measure of every situation too late. How soon she will learn just what Nazi’s are capable of.

How was she as a mother? …”I’m on my way to the oven.” She tells her sons, with her old beating heart and stale thoughts, her boys whose names they share with three Norwegian Kings, sons that have shoved her in a nursing home, one she immediately escapes. Sons she has dragged around like luggage as she finds a life that doesn’t confine her just to be a woman, a mother. In the present she hates the “Rainmaker”, wife to her youngest, and gets up to mischief to expose her sins. What’s a little cyber-crime anyway for an old woman not long for this world? What can she do to wake her son, to shake some back bone back in place? The boys she took off to Paris to raise, boys who saw men come in and out of their mother’s life until it was time to leave the beauty and return to the ugliness she missed in her homeland. Not much of a mother, the boys raising her, as she fights the role of motherhood and male dominance. But nothing seems to ever be still nor settled for her. None of her plans turn out as she imagined them, some ending even in death- of strangers, lovers, a golden child…

The story jumps through time and memories branded in Herra Bjornsson’s mind and not many of them happy ones yet there is humor. This is meant to make you uncomfortable, it was an ugly time. If Herra has any luck, it’s for survival but it costs her. She certainly has a rocky fate and meets earth shattering tragedy but somehow manages to cling to life. Her early childhood was one of privilege but her dad’s loyalty to the wrong side in war becomes a ‘plague o’ your house’- channeling a little Shakespeare there, I am. I don’t know if everyone would enjoy this novel, I have grown up with so many stories of war and occupation from my father’s side that I tend to devour books written about such. It’s rich in painful memories, and a little disjointed but it worked as it’s coming from the aged mind of a dying woman. War does something to people, it hardens so many, and as she tells us, there certainly wasn’t salvation back then, no psychologists looking to shake the horrors of war out of anyone, let alone poor Herra. The ending is abrupt, but then again- death is too so it follows.

Publication Date: January 9, 2018

Algonquin Books

Not really my thing. As such, I decline to offer a full review.

I just couldn't get into this. It felt like it was trying way too hard to be funny/cute.

I loved the story, the characters and just about everything in this book. I wish I knew her!

Herbjorg Maria Bjornsson is an 80 year old woman living out her final days in a garage in Reykjavik Iceland. Her days consist of pills, vitamins and seducing younger men over the internet. It would be easy for her to be bitter especially since she has been cheated out of her money and is hardly ever visited by her sons and their families but she remains tough and tells us her story of survival during World War II. Her mother was never really there for her and her dad decided that Hitler made sense leaving them in Denmark while her enlisted. Herbjorg's experiences during the war started with her being left at a train station in Germany by her dad who had to get back to the war, told to wait for her mom who never came. Years of fending for herself and being taken advantage of by everyone made her tough as nails and she traveled to several countries before coming home to Iceland. The story is told journal style and it is a bit jumpy but that could be because it is a translation. Her story will bring tears to the hardest of hearts. My thanks to the publisher for the advance copy.