One challenging aspect of writing historical fiction is that while the plot has elements of the imagination, it must operate in a world that already exists. Unlike a typical fiction writer, who can pretty much build a world to support a plot, a historical fiction writer needs to wrestle with elements like historical timelines, real-life people, social politics, and even the economy. They must also have a clear sense of physical setting, which can be daunting if you are like me who (1) does not live in the place they are writing about and (2) is writing about the past.
A place that has found its way into my novel is the Hotel Borg which is an actual continuously running hotel situated in the heart of Reykjavik right across the street from Parliament. The Reykjavik Grapevine wrote a fantastic article on the history of the hotel, which apparently was funded by Jóhannes Borg (hence the name) and opened in the 1930s. I encourage you to read reporter Elías Þórsson’s work here.
I have memories of the Hotel Borg that date back to the first time I visited Reykjavik with my Amma when I was 10 years old. It seemed important that she show me the place as it was where she and my grandfather (an American soldier) initially met. The hotel and the area that it is situated in, across from Austurvöllur Square, the national church, and (what I call) the duck pond, has not changed significantly since the WWII occupation when tens of thousands of British and American soldiers occupied Iceland. Iceland is one of the few European nations that was not bombed in WWII, so it did not have to spend time re-building after the war.
I wish I could remember the exact words my Amma said as we were standing in Austurvöllur Square, admiring the Hotel Borg. I always had the sense that she thought the hotel was the symbol of sophistication, a place where international, urbane, important people mingled and lodged. She seemed to have memories of great music and dancing.
It wasn’t until I started researching my novel that I realized the historical importance of the Hotel Borg during WWII and the times of the Ástandið (the Situation). The hotel and its dance hall was the place where many Icelandic women would come to meet foreign soldiers. Because of its popularity, it also became a place frequently monitored by Jóhanna Knudsen and her spies.
Knudsen is seen by many to be the most heinous character in this Situation time period. Formerly a nurse, Knudsen had been appointed by Prime Minister Hermann Jónasson to essentially become a detective who investigated the morality of young Icelandic women. In reality, Knudsen was really just the figurehead for the angst that simmered in the country during the occupation. In 1941, Icelandic politicians were terrified by “the invasion of foreign ideas, language and lifestyles,” (Hálfdanarson 84). All of it “was a dangerous threat to Iceland’s national identity and the country’s moral order. The fear of foreign ‘pollution’ was especially acute when it came to what the male-dominated political class regarded as the more ‘vulnerable’ part of the nation, that is, the women and the young – and young women in particular,” (84).
I mention this all because writing about the Hotel Borg is a bit daunting. How does one capture the history, the emotions, the dreams, and the angst of such an important place? My intention is not to misrepresent it, nor the people who inhabited it, but infuse it with an imaginable story that honors its place in history.
Hálfdanarson, Guðmundur. “‘The Beloved War’ The Second World War and the Icelandic National Narrative.” Nordic Narratives of the Second World War : National Historiographies Revisited, edited by Henrik Stenius, e-book, Nordic Academic Press, 2011, pp. 79-100.
Þórsson, Elías. “The Sometimes Unbelievable, Always Remarkable Story of Hotel Borg.” The Reykjavik Grapevine.
Venessa Anderson 