Comedian, writer and former mayor of Reykjavík JÓN GNARR, writes a weekly column for the weekend issue of Fréttablaðið, Iceland's most read newspaper. Here he reflects on death in his family and recommends a walk in Hólavallagarður cemetery in Reykjavík, which has been listed as one of Europe’s loveliest cemeteries.
I often give interviews to foreign media who come to Iceland. This summer, it’s been one to three interviews per week. When asked to name my favorite place in Reykjavík, I always mention the cemetery at Hólavellir. I go there almost every day walking my dog and listening to audio books. It is peaceful and quiet, and I think there are few places in Iceland that are as Icelandic as this cemetery; exquisitely structured in its disorder. Trees grow on the graves, reminding you that life is progression and death only some kind of transition.
Cemeteries are places I usually visit when I am in foreign cities, and have time to spare. I would rather go to a cemetery than a museum. This summer I was in Prague and, of course, I visited the old Jewish cemetery.
As a cemetery enthusiast and an Icelander, I want to use this opportunity to say that I think the cemetery in Gufunes is a dreadful place. It is a kind of “drive-through” cemetery from an American nightmare. You can see people drive to the graves and throw flowers out the window. Sometimes, you can even see tire tracks on the graves.
I took my youngest son to my parents’ grave a few years ago. Some man had parked his car in front of the grave so we had to approach it from the side. He had left the engine running. The window was open and the radio was on blasting a talk show all over the place.
These two cemeteries are such good examples of what is right and good, and what is wrong and bad in Reykjavík. One is civilized and based on a deep cultural foundation while the other is a cultureless and cold planning disaster.
Mom, Dad and Jói
I was very young when I first encountered death. I had old parents. When I was two, my father’s sister died. I was only three when my maternal grandmother died. When I was four, my mother’s sister died. When I was nine, another of her sisters died. The year 1981 was fateful for me in many ways. I was fourteen. This year my paternal grandmother died. She was very close to me. This same year two of my uncles died after a long struggle with illness.
This had a very profound effect on the whole family and our relations. And I have, like most people, had some dealings and involvement with death through the years. Death is an inspiration for me and motivation to live and be happy. On November 30th, 2008, my father died. Dad was very political, and I probably chose to become a politician to honor his memory and to continue his struggle in my own way. And the outcome was the Best Party.
On April 6th, 2010, at the beginning of the campaign, my father-in-law and friend, Jói Gísla, died suddenly at his home. Instead of losing my spirit and quitting, I did my utmost to make everything as jolly as he would have preferred. My father-in-law’s spirit was over the Best Party’s campaign, perhaps because he was born on our Independence Day, June 17th. The same day was also my first formal working day.
When I had been the mayor for a few months my mother died. On top of all the boredom I already felt, I was afraid this would finish me off, and I almost broke down and gave up. But my mother was tough and brave. She had voted for the Best Party and me. And in memory of her I decided not to give up but finish what I had started, because that’s how she would have done it.
A New Beginning
Of all the mysteries of the universe, there are few that equal death. No-one knows what happens to us when we die. People who have been close to dying have remarkable stories to tell about their experience, and there are many different theories about the phenomenon.
I have read many books about death, both scientific treatises and philosophical and religious books. I have not come to a conclusion. I have an anxious anticipation for my own hour of death. I am eager to see what happens. Will my father come on a hovercraft to greet me, or will I perhaps materialize as an alien in a far-away part of the solar system? That would certainly be fun, but if nothing happens, then so be it.
It is not of the utmost importance what happens to you, but rather those who are left behind, and what you leave behind you. If everything is energy in this world, then memory must be energy too. Maybe life and death are the same thing, an endless transformation of energy, and while we think we are saying goodbye to those who are leaving, maybe they have become part of yourself and continue living through us?
Comedian, writer and former mayor of Reykjavík JÓN GNARR, writes a weekly column for the weekend issue of Fréttablaðið, Iceland's most read newspaper. Here he reflects on death in his family and recommends a walk in Hólavallagarður cemetery in Reykjavík, which has been listed as one of Europe’s loveliest cemeteries.
I often give interviews to foreign media who come to Iceland. This summer, it’s been one to three interviews per week. When asked to name my favorite place in Reykjavík, I always mention the cemetery at Hólavellir. I go there almost every day walking my dog and listening to audio books. It is peaceful and quiet, and I think there are few places in Iceland that are as Icelandic as this cemetery; exquisitely structured in its disorder. Trees grow on the graves, reminding you that life is progression and death only some kind of transition.
Cemeteries are places I usually visit when I am in foreign cities, and have time to spare. I would rather go to a cemetery than a museum. This summer I was in Prague and, of course, I visited the old Jewish cemetery.
As a cemetery enthusiast and an Icelander, I want to use this opportunity to say that I think the cemetery in Gufunes is a dreadful place. It is a kind of “drive-through” cemetery from an American nightmare. You can see people drive to the graves and throw flowers out the window. Sometimes, you can even see tire tracks on the graves.
I took my youngest son to my parents’ grave a few years ago. Some man had parked his car in front of the grave so we had to approach it from the side. He had left the engine running. The window was open and the radio was on blasting a talk show all over the place.
These two cemeteries are such good examples of what is right and good, and what is wrong and bad in Reykjavík. One is civilized and based on a deep cultural foundation while the other is a cultureless and cold planning disaster.
Mom, Dad and Jói
I was very young when I first encountered death. I had old parents. When I was two, my father’s sister died. I was only three when my maternal grandmother died. When I was four, my mother’s sister died. When I was nine, another of her sisters died. The year 1981 was fateful for me in many ways. I was fourteen. This year my paternal grandmother died. She was very close to me. This same year two of my uncles died after a long struggle with illness.
This had a very profound effect on the whole family and our relations. And I have, like most people, had some dealings and involvement with death through the years. Death is an inspiration for me and motivation to live and be happy. On November 30th, 2008, my father died. Dad was very political, and I probably chose to become a politician to honor his memory and to continue his struggle in my own way. And the outcome was the Best Party.
On April 6th, 2010, at the beginning of the campaign, my father-in-law and friend, Jói Gísla, died suddenly at his home. Instead of losing my spirit and quitting, I did my utmost to make everything as jolly as he would have preferred. My father-in-law’s spirit was over the Best Party’s campaign, perhaps because he was born on our Independence Day, June 17th. The same day was also my first formal working day.
When I had been the mayor for a few months my mother died. On top of all the boredom I already felt, I was afraid this would finish me off, and I almost broke down and gave up. But my mother was tough and brave. She had voted for the Best Party and me. And in memory of her I decided not to give up but finish what I had started, because that’s how she would have done it.
A New Beginning
Of all the mysteries of the universe, there are few that equal death. No-one knows what happens to us when we die. People who have been close to dying have remarkable stories to tell about their experience, and there are many different theories about the phenomenon.
I have read many books about death, both scientific treatises and philosophical and religious books. I have not come to a conclusion. I have an anxious anticipation for my own hour of death. I am eager to see what happens. Will my father come on a hovercraft to greet me, or will I perhaps materialize as an alien in a far-away part of the solar system? That would certainly be fun, but if nothing happens, then so be it.
It is not of the utmost importance what happens to you, but rather those who are left behind, and what you leave behind you. If everything is energy in this world, then memory must be energy too. Maybe life and death are the same thing, an endless transformation of energy, and while we think we are saying goodbye to those who are leaving, maybe they have become part of yourself and continue living through us?
