The Call of the Cormorant
Subtitled “An Unreliable Biography,” this indeed tells the story of a most unreliable and slippery artist, Karl Einarsson. Born in Iceland, he grows up on the Faroes (where the only thing they produce is mist in summer and wind in winter), self-styles himself the Count of St. Kilda, moves to Denmark, and then ends up in Nazi Germany. The Faroe Islands have been taken over by Britain for the duration of the war.
Karl makes his accommodation with the Nazi government by becoming the Faroese equivalent of William Joyce, “Lord Haw-Haw”, broadcasting propaganda in Faroese. Surprisingly, he was never indicted for treason after the war.
From the first line I know I’m in the hands of a bard and consummate story-teller. The writing is lyrical and hugely descriptive, but the writer always draws us on into the story: what an odd man the father is; how shoddily treated the Faroese were by their colonial masters; what’s going to happen to the sister?; and where will Karl’s great imagination lead him next? The history is rich and fascinating, the toughness of life for all living through the two World Wars is well described, and the narrator is cleverly shown as being flawed and self-interested.
