How Iceland's Literary Culture Inspired a Teenager to Become a Writer
As a teenager, Hannah Kent found herself in the remote Icelandic village of Sauðárkrókur, surrounded by mountains, sea, and valley, with no trees to buffer the Arctic winds. The impenetrable January gloom and ferocious, sentient-sounding winds filled her nights with dreams of weeping women, a soundscape that seemed to whisper stories waiting to be written. Lying in bed, she picked up her pen, driven by a need to understand both herself in this new place and Iceland itself—its brutal landscapes and breathtaking beauty.
A Lifeline in a Foreign Land
At 16, Kent applied for a foreign student exchange without much thought to the destination, seeking respite from the pressure to decide her future. Despite a lifelong desire to write, she had internalized societal doubts about the arts as unworthy. When the Rotary club sponsored her year abroad, she was surprised to learn she would be sent to Iceland, a Nordic island of 250,000 people she knew nothing about. Initially, she wondered what common ground she could possibly find with this distant land.
In Sauðárkrókur, located in the northern fjord of Skagafjörður, Kent faced overwhelming challenges: attending a high school whose name she couldn't pronounce, enduring stares and incomprehension, and even being blown into snowbanks by fierce winds. Yet, as the winter eased into March, bringing exquisite blue twilights, she found solace in writing. Documenting ravens circling and fjords mirroring mountains allowed her to step outside her loneliness, pouring words onto paper each night in the privacy of her bedroom.
A Teacher's Encouragement Sparks a Transformation
One day in Icelandic class, Kent began writing a poem in her notebook's margins, captivated by Mount Tindastóll's snowy peaks lit pink by the late sunrise. Her teacher, Geirlaugur, noticed her distraction and, instead of reprimanding her, handed her an anthology of Icelandic nature poems translated into English. Inscribed with "To Hannah, From one poet to another, Geirlaugur," the gift came with a firm prediction: "Keep going, and you will be published one day." His serious, non-condescending tone struck her deeply, and his encouragement, punctuated by the word "Áfram" (Onwards), became a turning point.
From that moment, Kent's relationship with Iceland shifted dramatically. She immersed herself in learning Icelandic and reading Icelandic novels, discovering that Geirlaugur's poetic sensibility reflected a broader cultural appreciation. She read works like Halldór Laxness's Independent People, where farmers compose stanzas while laboring, and the Sagas of the Icelanders, where poets hold prestige equal to warriors. As she found friendship and belonging in Sauðárkrókur, she learned that Icelanders' respect for authors remains strong, with one in ten publishing a book in their lifetime—the highest per capita rate in the world.
Iceland as a Muse and Catalyst
Kent credits Iceland with shaping her into a writer, as the enthusiasm for literature she witnessed renewed her confidence in writing as a worthy vocation. The island's sentient winds and blushing mountains continue to serve as her muse. Whenever self-doubt creeps in, she recalls Geirlaugur's gruff voice urging her onward. This transformative experience highlights how a foreign culture's deep literary roots can ignite passion and purpose, proving that sometimes, the most unexpected places hold the keys to our true calling.
