The Geography of Bliss

that you might become.”
We tend to think of culture as something old and fragile.
Culture is what we inherit from our ancestors and either
preserve or, more likely, squander. True, but that tells only
part of the story. Culture is also invented. Of course it is.
Someone had to invent it so we could fuck it up.
Iceland—and this is the part that is truly mind-blowing—is
inventing its culture now. As you read these words, some
Icelandic musician is composing the quintessential
Icelandic song. So far, no such thing exists. There is no
tradition of instrumental music in Iceland. It was too cold
and dark back then to bother, or maybe the ancient
Icelanders were too drunk at the time. So young Icelanders
are deciding for themselves what is quintessentially
Icelandic. It is a wonderful thing to watch. To be present at
the moment of creation.
If it is possible for language, mere words, to nurture
happiness, to tickle the creative soul of an entire people,
then surely that language is Icelandic. Icelanders love their
language. Love it even more than they love their country,
which is saying something. For Icelanders, language is the
tabernacle of the culture. That’s what one person here told
me. In any other country, I’d dismiss such a statement as
nationalistic hyperbole. I might even laugh. Not in Iceland.
As any Icelander will tell you (and tell you and tell you),
they speak the pure language of the Vikings, while other