Oslo, Libraries, and Mindful Writing
It matters to me where I write. When I’m deep in editing, or some kind of structural work, I prefer to be in my study on my laptop with my books around me. I never underestimate how lucky I am to have a dedicated space, a room of my own in which to write. At other times, if push comes to shove, I can write almost anywhere, but there’s no doubt that certain places are more conducive to writing than others. For me such places are rarely silent. I like writing in cafes, for instance. I like working with the rhythm of conversation in the background; in places alive with people but where I can go unnoticed. And I think, even if subconsciously, I’m always looking out for new opportunities. Discovering new places to write is one of the joys of being a writer.
I discovered such a place last week in Oslo. (Though sadly, I won’t be writing there. I’m afraid it’s too long a journey!) New places are often in themselves inspiring for a writer but I wasn’t expecting or even hoping to be inspired by Oslo. I arrived in the city weighted down by my current writing project which is proving difficult and demanding especially as I approach the most troubling part of it all. This trip was about going on holiday, being with family and taking a serious break from writing.
It was a very happy visit. I was glad to leave the work behind. Oslo is a beautiful capital, its people are invariably charming and helpful. It’s a clean, leafy, green city, that prizes sustainability. Its harbour front is lined with cafes and restaurants, and one morning in brilliant sunshine we walked its length, arriving at the Opera House; its dazzling, white exterior, seeming to rise like a ship from the sea. Standing on its marble-covered, many-angled roof, we looked out over the waters of the inner Oslofjord and its islands.
Next to the Opera House is the newly built, five-storey, Deichman Bjørvika Library which as well being described as Norway’s biggest bookshelf, houses a cafe, restaurant, media workshops, auditorium, recording studios, a mini cinema, lounges and gaming zones. There are no hushed silences here. The exception being on the top floor where the reading rooms and the pioneering art project, Future Library are housed.
‘The Future Library project (Norwegian: Framtidsbiblioteket) is a public artwork that aims to collect an original work by a popular writer every year from 2014 to 2114. The works will remain unread and unpublished until 2114. One thousand trees were specially planted for the project in the Nordmarka forest at its inception; the 100 manuscripts will be printed in limited-edition anthologies using paper made from the trees.’ Wikki
As we enter through the wide revolving doors, the sound of children’s voices rise up to meet us. The interior is spectacular and filled with light. Take a look inside here. It seems to me to be everything a modern library should be and I am momentarily filled with sadness remembering how in the UK we have failed to cherish our libraries. How we have closed them down.
As a young girl, around the age of eight onwards, I was a regular visitor at the local Library, especially in the long summer holidays when I would sometimes read two books in a day. As a child I could take out only one book at a time. The library closed at lunchtime, so I would often be sat on the steps waiting for afternoon opening in order to change my book. I am ever grateful to the librarian who eventually decided I could move from the children’s section to the adult’s two years early. The library was my haven, a portal to other worlds, a safe place for a curious child seeking transcendence. There were no books to speak of at home, which wasn’t unusual in the early 60s on the estate where we lived, but it didn’t matter when the library was open.
In the Deichman Bjørvika library I feel that familiar pull, the itch to write. Do I have my notebook in my bag? Where is my pen? Can I sit down here in a cathedral of glass and slanting light, and work? If I lived here, I think, this would be my church.
I didn’t have my notebook with me, and besides I was with John, who despite not being a writer is a reader, and was equally enthusiastic about the library, as well as understanding what it meant for me to be there.
Later that evening in the flat, I retrieved a notebook from my suitcase because even if I don’t intend to write I never travel without one. I sat at the small round dining table in our Airbnb opened the notebook and returned to the practice, which is for me like the mindfulness of writing - the list of five things. I’ve written about this often here - specifically in this newsletter, where I describe this simple but effective writing tool, where adjectives are few and statements simple.
It strikes me now as a particularly good way of recording a trip or a visit to a new place, when you don’t want to journal or write at length. It is equally good in the ordinary days, days when we are sometimes in danger of failing to notice and observe the world around us. It is little more than list making but then making lists is what writers do. Here is a taste of my five things from the day we visited the Library and another from an Oslo morning in the flat.
The Day of the Opera House
walking in heat along the crowded harbour following google maps
the sun glitters on the water of the Oslofjord and across the white marble planes of the Opera House
we walk across the roof
the Deichman Bjorvika library is filled with the voices of children
I want to sit down and write at a desk suspended in light and space.
A Morning in Oslo at the Airbnb
watching from the window - so many young people off to study
we are among trees and green spaces
six flat-peaches sit ripening on the kitchen counter
the scent of hydrangea and lavender handwash lingers
my mouth waters in anticipation of coffee and pistachio pastries
Thank you for reading and a BIG thank you for staying with me here at Writing Days where I have just reached 100 subscribers. It’s not a big number for many Substack writers but in my world I value every subscriber and I’m looking forward to my next 100. Do share a link if you know anyone you think might like to receive the newsletter.
Finally - Where do you like to write - do please add your thoughts in the comments.
Wonderfully evocative piece on your inspirational Substack.W.x
Interesting thoughts as ever. I've never been able to write/edit in anything other than a quiet room alone. I've managed to respond to a prompt in a group setting several times, but don't like it. I hate making notes or even carrying a notepad. (It feels like work). But- I do absorb everything intuitively into my bones. The ongoing work is set in Leeds. It's been 13 years since I lived there for a year. But the memory's reservoir of details is surprising when sifted.