Books like How Iceland Changed the World — picked by fans

I love the sagas. They are stories first told a thousand years ago about the Norse settlers in Iceland. They are crisp, subtle, exciting with some excellent characters, especially the women. My favourites are the two Vinland Sagas, which describe the discovery of Greenland and then North America (Vinland) by Erik the Red and his family. This includes the wonderful Gudrid, who was born in Iceland, got married in Greenland, gave birth to a child called Snorri in Vinland, and then went on a pilgrimage to Rome. All in about 1000 AD! 

Iceland is one of the first off-the-beaten-track places I visited as an aspiring young travel writer and I arrived with the onset of the first Gulf War - the one against Saddam Hussein.

I visited with three other people. We immediately met a man in Reykjavik who introduced us to his diplomat friend, and before it was all said and done we spent most of that trip with the Icelander and the Frenchman in front of a much more rudimentary CNN, watching the war.

While I’ve been back to Iceland a number of times since, that first trip, the instant friendships, and the very odd experience of watching war in the desert from up at the Arctic Circle, sealed the deal for me about visiting the far north, and indirectly led to my own later book.

Halldor Laxness is the greatest of Icelandic authors and Independent People is very nearly… show more.

The Icelanders are remarkable people with some pretty strange habits. Optimistic, energetic, friendly in a very reserved way, armed with irony that can kill at ten metres, they do not fit the classic Scandinavian stereotype. Over the last decade, as I have researched Iceland for my various Magnus novels, the Icelandic-Canadian Alda has been my guide on all things Icelandic. She gets to the bottom of their quirks and foibles in this brilliant little book of fifty or so essays about the people who live on a treeless volcano with appalling weather. Very funny. Very illuminating.

I don’t think it is overly ambitious to claim that you can learn a lot about a country from its crime novels. I certainly did, devouring novels by Yrsa Sigurdardóttir, Lilja Sigurdardóttir, Ragnar Jónasson, and the Englishman Quentin Bates. A good crime novel describes not only a place and its people but what makes them tick, what they fear, and what they desire. It’s very hard to pick just one crome novel from so many great ones, but Arnaldur Indridason’s Silence of the Grave won the British Crime Writers Association Gold Dagger in 2005 and also features the British occupation of the country during the war. Plus, it’s a damned good story.  

Reykjavik Police Inspector Erlendur and his associate, Sigurdur Oli, are sent to investigate the murder of an old man bashed with an ashtray. They soon uncover his sordid past, in which he was accused of rape. Traipsing from clue to clue, interviewing tangential witnesses, they learn more about why he was killed and eventually discover the perpetrator, whose life was tragically altered by the actions of the murdered man. Erlendur and Oli are like the Odd Couple but complement each other in their work. The title refers to the practice of keeping organs in jars for medical research, which figures into the investigation. The journey to the solution of the case is very satisfying. 

I’ve only been to Iceland once but I fell in love with the country almost immediately – the landscape, the hot pools, the wildlife, all of it!

I’m a cold weather animal at heart and a cold climate always makes me want to snuggle under a blanket and read something heart-warming. This book is a big dose of that ‘cosy inside on a cold winter’s night’ feeling in fiction form. We meet Anna and Ned when they’re both going through difficult times and watching the sparks fly as they find themselves and maybe find love is utterly joyous.

Another slightly left-field pick, but the atmosphere in this author’s books is just as compelling as in Without Fail as mentioned above. In a snowy, cold Iceland, a beleaguered detective investigates the murder of a local man who was once a shining light as a child. 

Lost potential, old vendettas, and evil preying on the weak are all elements here, in a very unique setting, with a dogged lead who refuses to give up. Slower and colder but just as gripping.

Stumbling on the fishing hut of Thuridor Einarsdottir, 1777 – 1863, ’one of Iceland’s greatest fishing captains’ set Margaret Willson off on a quest to find out more about the women who flourished in this traditionally male industry. She found a number of them, not just historical women like Thuridor’s contemporaries Kristin and Ingibjorg, farmhands who were expected by the farmer to go to sea, but also their modern counterpart, Vally the farmer/seawoman, along with Hulda the housewife, Jonina, Gudrun, Bylgja and Vigdis. Grey pages spread through the book are short interviews with them; the rest is a lyrically written account of the fishing and social history of Iceland through the experiences of women. A delight to read.

I thought this was one of the most influential and important books of the 21st century.

I truly enjoyed the details and level of research that went into this book, as well as the wealth of information about the Vikings’ Icelandic settlements, their traditions, customs, and way of life. I felt transported back in time, when the first longships landed on the Icelandic shore, and I felt that I was living with those early settlers, not just reading about their lives.

I felt a very powerful connection with their struggles to establish their farms and regulate their communal life. I felt inspired to read and learn more, and eventually to write my own take on the Viking voyages.  

This is a slim book and it's told in an intimate, lyrical voice that feels like it's speaking directly to you from the period – which, in this case, is the 9th century CE.

All the Horses of Iceland follows a Norse trader through Rus to Mongolia in the company of Khazars. It's a ghost story, with notes of sadness mixed with wonder. And while it is possible to trace the journey and pick up on historical signposts, the book doesn't acknowledge that it knows when and where its reader might be – which bolsters the illusion of reading something very old.