Articles Available Online

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass   Aurora chasing is a favourite sport up in Iceland, one of the main draws for visitors Northern Lights come in all sorts of hues, apparently, but more often than not they are a glowing green – the colour of the equally elusive meteorological phenomenon that gives its title to a lesser-known Jules Verne novel and to Eric Rohmer´s 1986 film Le rayon vert The dreamy final sequence of the latter, as I recall, dilates the moment when the green flash briefly appears just as the sun sinks below the horizon, contemplated from afar by the mesmerised heroine Delphine and her newfound love, Jacques Earlier on in the film, the troubled protagonist portrayed by Marie Larivière overhears a conversation at the beach in which Verne´s Le rayon vert is discussed Whoever sees the fleeting green ray, the story goes, gains an insight into their own and other people´s thoughts and feelings A clarity of vision   A week into my month-long retreat in the solitude of Roni Horn‘s VATNASAFN/LIBRARY OF WATER, overlooking the harbour in the fishing village of Stykkishólmur and the many islands of Breiðafjörður Bay, I sighted a green ray from the writer´s studio located beneath the library Minutes before I was up in the library, surrounded by the clear glacier-filled glass columns that have replaced its original holdings The wind-swept sky that evening had the same pellucid quality For once no clouds were obstructing the horizon line at sunset; this in itself felt like a rare occurrence, one that should not go unheeded I was in the midst of preparing supper when the sun started dipping into the sea These rival claims on my attention kept me rushing back and forth across the room, from the kitchen area to the windows looking out to the West Fjords The sun´s disk was all but engulfed Eager to resume my cooking activities, I nearly turned my back on the green ray Yet before I could pull myself away